Revenge
by quiltgrl
Summary: How will The Closer handle a case when she is the victim?
1. Chapter 1

Revenge

She was tired and needed chocolate. There was nothing unusual about it, except she couldn't find her hidden stash of Ho Ho's she kept in the right hand side of her desk drawer strategically placed beneath a copy of Southern Living, a sure deterrent to those who may be lurking uninvited. Concerned, she quickly opened the second drawer and removed the Wal-Mart purchased floral photo box noted for its ability to hold a "multitude" of pictures, only to find it completely empty. She sucked in a breath of air, "What the hell," she gasped. A second stash of miniature Crunch bars, Snickers, and M&M's (regular and peanut) were missing. She thought the photo box was a clever idea, discreetly containing and hiding the "multitude" of chocolate delights she was forbidden to eat. She felt heat rise to her face, and fire lit her eyes as she glared into the emptied box realizing Fritz had been in her office just the day before…alone! "Damn him,' she muttered, feeling like a heroine junkie deprived of an assured fix. She'd just bought it two days ago and now it was all confiscated, no stolen was the better word, right out from under her nose. She flung the box into the drawer and slammed it shut. He was already on her short list, now he only added to her percolating anger, which was threatening to boil over. Luckily, she heard the little voice inside her head that told her to solve the problem. With that she grabbed her big black bag and removed her change purse. She looked inside and was satisfied to see it populated with quarters, but took ten ones from her wallet, just in case. "I'll fix you Fritz Howard," she said out loud, in a vexing tone. "If I want chocolate then I'll have it anytime I damn well please."

She stomped from her office and down the hall only to meet Sergeant Gabriel at the doors to the Murder Room.

"Chief, you're still here. I thought you'd be gone by now," he said, surprised, holding the door open. "Are you alright…your face is bright red," he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine Sergeant, it's a little hot in my office," she glanced away with the telling of her lie, but she didn't want to get into a discussion about Fritz. The lie was easier. "I'm just finishing up some paperwork, taking care of some loose ends is all." Which was true, but she failed to disclose the real reason for not leaving, which was facing Fritz after the enormous argument they had that morning, and the paperwork was a good excuse. She'd manage to simmer down through the day, but now she was all worked up again. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be long gone, being the holiday weekend and all."

"I wanted to finish the interview reports on the Reed case. Remember I took Tuesday off," he said, hoping she recalled signing his request.

"I remember," she said, smiling, "taking a long weekend to see Irene."

"Yeah, flying out first thing in the morning," he said, "I've been missing her. I wish she was still here, but you know how much she wanted that Homeland Security position. She told me yesterday there's a chance she could be transferred to LA. Maybe it'll work out for us," he said with hopefulness, "It's been tough."

"Long distance relationships usually are," Brenda said. She couldn't ignore the hint of melancholy she heard in Sergeant Gabriel's voice, and felt a pang of sorrow. "It'll work. I'm sure Sergeant."

"Thanks Chief, I appreciate it."

"I can finish up whatever you have, just leave it with me," Brenda said, wanting a legitimate excuse for staying longer than need be.

"No, Chief, I would really like to see this through. It won't take me very long, and besides, I don't have anyone to get home to. I'm sure Fritz is expecting you. It's late," he said, looking at his watch.

Brenda paused, "Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. I have a few things to tie up myself," she said.

Brenda walked through the opened door hoping Sergeant Gabriel would think she was going to the ladies room. When she was sure he was out of sight she quickly made her way to the hulking vending machine. It was a sight to behold as she peered through the glass with enthralled anticipation. She felt her heart skip a beat or two in sheer jubilation knowing she was totally unrestricted in number and selection. She looked at her reflection, normally it was angst she saw there, but this time it was unequivocally glee. She felt it from head to toe having to hold back an intense urge to jump for joy, especially when she saw the Ho Ho's in the bottom right corner, H-10. The machine was a monstrosity, a beast, and it represented her greatest weakness in life, a continual reminder of sugar. It called out to her every single day, tempting her with sinful pleasures like some diabolical demon.

She pushed the quarters into the machine and felt a thrill go through her body, making her gasp out loud. She bought the remaining twin paks of Ho Ho's and heard them drop to the bottom. Shivers ran up her spine in excitement. Uninhibited, she shoved in more quarters and selected the Reese Cups, M&M's, Snickers, Milky Way, Butterfingers, Crunch, Kit Kat, Twix, and oh, the Heath bar H-1. She felt unrestrained, free and exhilarated as she pounded in the quarters, and then dollars, pushing buttons to her desire. She was elated and had worked herself into a euphoric fanfare, her heart beat wildly, and her breath came in fast puffs. She knew this was unadulterated madness at its worse. She shouldn't be indulging in such things, but she just couldn't help herself. She was passionate, fixated in the moment, lured by the sights and sounds, and any measure of self-control escaped her. With her last dollar bill loaded, she pressed A-1 and a Hershey's Skor fell with a plunk, it was over. She looked down at the candy resting in the bottom, sated, but now feeling guilty over her iniquitous behavior, and for heaven's sake, what if Fritz found out. She looked at herself in the glass and only saw the pain in her eyes this time. "Damn him," she muttered. She took off her blazer and loaded the plunder within its folds, sneakily carrying it back to her office. God forbid if Gabriel saw what she had been doing to that machine, or better yet, what that machine had been doing to her.

She dumped it all into her desk drawer, and with her enjoyment expended, lusting for chocolate had only left her despondent and heavyhearted since it was done in vengeance. If only he would've left her candy alone, she thought, she wouldn't be feeling this way. She reached into the drawer and picked up the Ho Ho, her twin-pak of happiness, and opened it up admiring the two as they rested on the white cardboard. Should she eat both? She decided on just one, after all she had to take care of herself, it was important. Fritz let her know this everyday of her life, more so lately and now he would just conclude she was a total failure with her sugar predilection. She cringed at the thought, as her cell phone lit up to the tune of "Take Me out to the Ballgame," she sighed, the coincidence going unnoticed. She was tired of hearing the song she'd ignored all day long, but now found herself opening the phone ready to face the music.

"Hello," she said, in a brusque manner.

"I've been calling all day. Why didn't you answer," Fritz asked, short and to the point.

"Don't start on me again. I'm tired of hearing how I don't take care of myself. I'm not a bad person. It's getting old Fritz." She was blunt, and the anger she'd tried to bury all day was making its way to the surface.

"I'm not telling you you're a bad person. Where the hell is that coming from Brenda? You're dreaming up things to be mad over… talk about getting old." He was just as brusque with her, hearing the bristle in his words. She remained silent, and he went on, "Are you coming home, or are you going to be there all night?" He meant to say it in a milder manner, but the acrimony in his voice was seething, and all he managed to do was fire her up.

"I have a few more things to do here Fritz. I have a job, and there are certain responsibilities that come with it," she was loud and shrill, her anger showing itself, "so I may have to stay a little longer than usual. Is that all right with you, or are you going to blow a gasket thinking I'm posing some sort of health risk to myself!" She could feel the burning in her face and the trembling of her body. She felt like a volcano spewing hot ash from its peak ready to erupt into a forever changing explosion.

He spoke in a low growl, trying to control himself, but the words came fuming, hot and penetrable, "You know what, Brenda. You're a fucking smart ass. Just get it through that thick skull of yours that I care about you, and I'm not going to stop caring, especially when you're carrying our child inside of you," he paused letting it sink in, "So when I ask you about coming home, I expect you to give me a definite time because I don't want you out all night, you need to be home resting." He knew he was digging his own grave since placing unacceptable demands on Brenda Leigh Johnson was about as smart as putting your finger into a light socket, a certainty you'd be kicked on your ass.

She was eleven weeks pregnant, and frankly, it had taken her by surprise. She was an intelligent person, and knew the consequences of not using birth control, but she thought her medical condition would prevent conception; in fact she depended on it. Before this, with one pregnancy scare, she had been thoroughly insistent for him to be more scrupulous with protection measures. After her diagnosis and the affirmation from her doctor that becoming pregnant was highly unlikely, maybe impossible, she took that as ninety-nine percent chance of it never happening. Fritz was all too happy to do away with the latex condoms which were not only a hassle, but kept him from feeling all of her in their intimate connection. She couldn't count the number of times he'd whispered in her ear how great she felt as he slid inside her, the only way it should be done he told her.

She was two weeks late and brought the pregnancy test kit home. He was so nervous hovering over it looking for the words that would appear in the rectangular window, to her dismay it was only one, "pregnant." She was nearly floored, and he was on cloud nine. She had too many self-doubts and no self-confidence when it came to bringing a child into the world. Put her in a room with a serial killer and ask her to get a confession, she felt at home, in her element, but ask her to change a diaper and she'd be inept, befuddled, this wasn't what she was good at and it scared the hell out of her. It kept her from being happy, the fact she distrusted her ability to be a mother.

His over the top reaction only annoyed her because he became the consummate mother hen. He questioned her on everything… what did you eat today, did you take your vitamins, how much sleep did you get, you're not sneaking chocolate are you? He even rummaged through her bag looking for candy he thought she was hiding. For someone who was already worried over their capability, he only added to it making her think she couldn't properly take care of herself and was intentionally doing wrong. With her hormones in overdrive, creating an illusion of clear mindedness, she reasonably justified her sensible and straightforward approach of unleashing her unmitigated fury.

"Fritz, just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't do my job. I'm not an invalid. I know my body and what I need… and I don't need you HOUNDING me all the time." She could feel the steam coming from her ears.

"Is that what you think, that I just hound you? I do it because I care Brenda, not to hound you! So I'm really having a hard time understanding your anger when I point things out!" He exhaled in heated frustration.

"Fritz, you make me feel like I'm not doing anything right, like I don't care about our baby, and I'm sick and tired of it," she said, vehemently. She glanced down at the Ho Ho's in front of her, "Oh, and by the way, don't you ever, and I mean EVER get into my desk drawer again. Do you understand?" With her voice rising she went on, "Do you know what they do to thieves in some Middle Eastern countries…they cut off their hands. So I'm warning you, keep yours out of my desk," she said, venomously.

He was exercising his right to remain silent not wanting to incriminate himself, which was good in that she hit the nail on the head. When he finally spoke it was with viciousness, "Whether you like it or not Brenda, the child growing in you is a part of me, so I do have a right to take care of you. And as far as taking the candy from your desk, I took it. I'll admit it. I was only thinking of you and our baby. But instead of looking at it as something good, to keep you away from something that is bad, I bet you just went to that damn vending machine and loaded up. I bet you enjoyed it too Brenda, buying whatever you wanted having your little love affair." He was yelling heatedly into the phone, "So, taking the garbage from your desk…what the fuck does it matter anyway? You're going to do whatever you want to do, so go ahead and gorge yourself!"

She gasped, feeling the blow, not liking his vulgar terminology. She felt the tears spill from her eyes at his hurtful words, "You make me feel like a terrible person Fritz," her voice quivering, "and why are you speaking to me like this, you've never done it before. I'm going to be the mother of your child, for heaven's sake." She couldn't regain her composure and the words came out in a hysterical rant, "and you know, so I like chocolate, I can't help it. It's hard for me. Maybe I'm not good enough to be a mother. Maybe it's something I'm not capable of," she was yelling into the phone, "maybe this baby thing isn't for me, maybe I should've had it terminated." She wanted to hurt him and said the very thing that would do the job. He was quiet on the other end, rendered speechless.

Tears flowed from her eyes, and she wondered at the incredible depth she was willing to go in order to wound him, and now felt the weight of the world on her shoulders in guilt and sadness. Her emotions had been all over the place the last two months, so much she didn't recognize the person she was anymore. She needed to get a handle on things, for her husband and for her baby, and decided to start with an apology, "Fritz, I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," she stammered. He didn't respond, and she said meaningfully with a voice she could barely find, "I love you."

There was a long pause, "Yeah…right," he whispered, as if she were lying and then hung up in her ear.

She closed her phone and wiped her face feeling like a mess and knowing she looked it. Sometimes the words that couldn't be taken back were often stamped as an everlasting message on the heart, and she was beside herself thinking Fritz would never forgive her. She scrutinized the Ho Ho's sitting on her desk. Her stomach growled in protest as she plunged her finger into the creamy filling then put it to her mouth. It was a small taste of sugar, enough to satisfy. She picked up the chocolate treats and threw them in the trash deciding she was done with it, and then made a promise to herself that she would remove the rest of the sugar from her desk later. She shuddered at the cloud of doom that seemed to move over her. Her feelings were so intensified and off the charts she couldn't quite explain or understand it. Tears slid down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away. She opened the rear door to her office deciding to steal away unnoticed in case Sergeant Gabriel was roaming the 6th floor.

Fritz closed his phone in the heat of anger, refusing to say "I love you." It was a first, just like using vulgar language with her, which he'd refused to lower himself in deference to her. But he was out of sorts and his patience was worn thin. She was difficult and he was having a hard time with it. The pregnancy was a big change for her…for them…and he could tell by her somber look that she was unhappy, and her words, like a knife shoved into his heart, had only confirmed it.

Couldn't she just be happy about it? He blinked back tears. He thought of it as a dream come true, but all he could see in her face was trepidation in disaster. He thought she'd get use to the idea, warm up, accept it and be happy, but it proved to be a monumental task for a stubborn inflexible woman, and he was tired. Why did she make things so hard? He pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. He wasn't sure which way to take it, and he always had a clear plan in dealing with her bullheadedness. Maybe it was over between them and she'd have their baby aborted, and then he'd divorce her. Cringing at the thought, he nervously combed his fingers through his hair again feeling like pulling it out. He paced the kitchen trying to think. She had been impossible to live with the last two months, her moods swung like a pendulum, from one extreme to another. He could read her like a barometer, and when the lows brought stormy weather he adjusted accordingly, which meant extra patience needed, and when the darkened skies were chased away by the highs of a sunny disposition, she was back to normal with smooth sailing ahead. But lately, violent hurricane-like winds, the worst ever, blew in unexpectedly, and being unprepared he was left tattered and disheveled without a clue to where he stood. It's what happened today, the hurricane hit twice and he was frayed to the core, but the day hadn't started that way, in fact he thought the barometer was at its highest setting, brilliant and dry, not a cloud in the sky…

"Damnit," he muttered, jumping out of the shower. He took the towel from the hook putting it around his waist. Still dripping, he hastily made his way to turn off a rude, blaring alarm. The room was bathed in darkness and he was unfamiliar with the settings of the new clock. He sat on the bed and turned on the dimly lit lamp hoping he wouldn't wake Brenda, even though he doubted she could sleep through the sound of the persistent alarm. He heard her stir, "I'm sorry, honey. I'll only be a second." He finally pushed the correct button quieting the alarm. It was then he felt the searing heat of her body pressed tightly against him. It was shocking to the cool wetness of his skin, and he knew the warmth provided was more than the cocoon of covers she'd been surrounded in, especially with feeling the stiff peaks of her nipples as she slowly moved against his moist back. His arousal was instantaneous considering he'd been without her for the better part of two months. He'd given her the space she needed to adjust to the pregnancy, which required him to take several cold showers.

Her smooth hand gently moved up the length of his arm stopping occasionally to feel the definition of his muscles, absurdly excited, she pushed the pads of her fingertips over his strength moaning to the awakening need rising from his exuding virility. A drip from his wet head fell down the side of his neck and she captured it with her mouth licking her way up to his ear, "Do you have fifteen minutes to spare…for me, Fritzy?" Her breath was hot, her voice seductive. "Mmm…you taste so good," she said enticingly, her tongue touching the edge of his earlobe. Her arm moved beneath his and she slid her hand to his chest entwining her fingers in his hair, and then she pushed him closer into her voluptuous chest, hugging him tight. She took him in, the feel of his skin, the smell of his body, a light scent of Lever soap and the erotically powerful Fritz Howard pheromone.

"I can go in later. Practicing at the range. Annual weapon qualification." He spoke in short choppy sentences, breathless and barely audible. It was clear how much she thoroughly affected him in so little time. He could feel the blood surging through his veins with his quickened heart rate and he knew the temperature in the room had gone up three degrees from his body heat alone. He turned his head and looked into her simmering dark eyes. He could see the hunger in her flushed face, and an intense need fell over him to take her now, hard and fast, but he knew he must control himself.

"What are you going to shoot," she asked, kissing his ear. Her right hand pushed into his wet hair, as her left moved lower catching the beads of moisture on his skin to the towel wrapped around his waist. She grazed the edge of it with her finger and then quickly tugged it open exposing him to her. She peered over his shoulder, he was hard, well endowed, and she eagerly took him in her wet hand and began stroking, back and forth, and the groans coming from his throat only spurred her on. She would never reveal that he was the largest man she'd ever been with, why swell his ego too.

He was focused on her and what she was doing to him, and never thought about the ridiculousness of the question. "My gun…mmm..man.." he murmured. The stupendous feel of her hand nearly led to his undoing. He leaned his head back against her and closed his eyes enjoying the ascent which would end too soon, either by the removal of her hand or the explosion into it.

"Which gun," she asked devilish, kneading her hand with confidence knowing the places that gave him the greatest pleasure.

He chuckled, so this is where her questions were leading, "My 45, and believe me it's fully loaded."

"Are you threatening me Agent Howard," she said in mock disbelief, "mmm…assault with a deadly weapon." The chuckle behind her statement was telltale, and he seemed to like the sexual innuendo, at least he was making and effort to play along. "Maybe you just need to unload," she said with another devilish laugh. So she decided to provide more stimuli, and bit a path along his shoulder, grazing him with her teeth, and massaging him with her tongue. She was richly compensated by the guttural sounds rising from his throat

He finally said in a moan, "Brenda Leigh, you know better than to do this to a man who's been without you for so long. You better stop or it'll be over." He gasped when she squeezed harder, and then he whispered, "Is this the way you want it?"

She snickered into his ear, "I like it any way Fritz Howard, you know that. The question… is this the way you want it?" She planted hard wet kisses to the side of his rough unshaven face. He was breathing heavily and any droplets of water remaining on his skin had quickly evaporated. She was enjoying what she did to him. He was concentrating so hard, bringing a smile to her face as her hand worked its magic. She could tell he was close by the expression on his face, and the throbbing present in her grip.

His hand came up to her head slightly pulling her hair, getting her attention, "Bren, you need to stop now." His other hand clutched hers making an attempt to remove it. He sounded desperate with his dark eyes opened wide, perhaps saying it too late. She immediately let go so he could get command of his body.

He sighed in relief; glad it didn't end in the palm of her hand, especially since he let her go on too long. He took a few deep breaths to regain control, descending from the edge he'd been perched on. He felt the soft caresses of her hands over his back.

He turned to face her and was overwhelmed by her glowing beauty. Her body had changed since the last time they'd been together. Her breasts were considerably larger, with darkened nipples. Small blue veins could be seen within the paleness of her skin. It was quite obvious she was with child as her body was preparing for its' arrival. She had been rather shy around him the last few weeks. She never traipsed around naked after showers, or dressed in front of him anymore. She complained about her blouses being to tight, and her bras not fitting, but she never wanted him to see these things. It occurred to him now she was self conscious of her changing body. His eyes lingered over her breasts, and she put her finger to his chin and lifted his head. Apprehension was written all over her face, and he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Was she worried that he would think she was no longer attractive? She only looked more exquisite. He took her in his arms, and gently kissed her lips. "You are so beautiful, Brenda Leigh," he said into her ear, his voice breaking.

It was a long and pleasant opened mouth kiss. His tongue gently caressed and probed hers, relishing the taste. He moved her into his lap wanting better access to her body. His hand slid upward from her hip and gently cupped the ampleness of her breast filling it completely. He delicately rolled his thumb over her nipple, and was gratified by her whimper. He buried his lips into her neck, as her fingers pressed into his head urging him on. She was moving her hips closer to him in an attempt to engage his hardness, but he was holding her in place and only occasionally would he allow the heat of her to rub against his erection. "Not yet, Brenda Leigh," he mumbled.

She took his face in her hands, "I want you Fritz. I need you now," she said with a reckless glint in her eye. She thrust her hips into him aggressively, wanting to make the connection even if he was unwilling.

"Not yet," he said with a determined look, knowing he could easily plunge himself into her wetness. Her body was undulating against him as she shifted over his thigh demanding contact, "Fritzy, I need you now, give it to me" she croaked into his ear. He felt her wetness against his leg driving him mad, but he wanted to take his time making it last, savoring the moment. He put his arms around her feeling the heat radiating from her body, and the soft pinkness to her skin made his heart beat faster. The room was hot and a slight sheen of sweat covered them both. He put her on her back. He was on his side next to her with his weight on his elbow, and he gazed into her eyes.

She looked at him confused, two seconds ago he was all over her, and now he just stared, "Would you mind telling me what's going on. It's not really fair to get me all hot and bothered and then completely shut down. I'm expecting certain things here Fritz Howard, and I'm getting very frustrated." She furrowed her eyebrows and gave him a quirky look. All she needed was her black framed glasses to go with it, which melted his heart every time.

He smiled at her, "Need I remind you Ms. Johnson, you were the one who initiated this sequence of events. I'm slowing down the pace," he moved in close, inches from her, "and you should be so lucky that your husband thinks you are the most beautiful," he kissed her eye, "the most gorgeous," he kissed her nose, "the most sexy woman to walk the face of the earth." He put his forehead to hers and gently touched her lips with his, and flames ignited between them again.

He didn't know if it was shallow to be known as a breast man, but he couldn't deny it. For some men it was a woman's legs, or ass, or smile, or eyes, yet for him it was a woman's breasts that did it, and Brenda Leigh Johnson's were flawlessly magnificent. He was spending an inordinate amount of time handling and admiring those soft curves. He couldn't help it; she'd have to be patient. His hands caressed them lovingly, gently placing feathery kisses around and on top. His tongue swirled over her raised nipple gently sucking, and he could hear the slight intake of her breath. When he was sure he explored every inch, he pushed them together and pressed his face into them and then licked a path between, straight to her belly button. He dusted her baby bump, if that's what you'd call the slight rise to her abdomen, hardly noticeable to anyone else, with a sprinkling of kisses. He pushed her leg open, and ran his opened hand along her thigh, teasing her. He came to her and kissed her mouth, "Show me," he whispered, "what you want." She took his hand pushing it into the heat of her wetness. He couldn't believe how stimulated she was, his fingers were drowning as they probed the folds of her skin fondling her most sensitive area. His fingers slid back and forth, much like the motion she used on him earlier. Her eyes were closed and he intently watched the pleasure come to her face. Her breathing became quick and shallow, and she moved her hips to the movement of his hand, and suddenly it came upon her and she threw back her head and gasped his name. He kissed her deeply, and she hugged him tight as her orgasm ripped through her entire body.

She rested a moment in his arms and he gazed into her eyes, "Bren, you look so beautiful when you come." He smiled and chuckled, "Do you realize it only took 15 seconds?" It had never happened so fast before, and it took him by surprise. He wondered if it had anything to do with the pregnancy.

"It should make you happy, evidence of how you inspire me," she said, "And I'm ready for the next one." She pulled him into another mind blowing kiss. He moved over her as she willingly opened her legs, anticipating what was to come. He kindly lowered himself, and pushed into her and simultaneous groans of pleasure escaped from their mouths. She was hot and wet, and the folds of her skin surrounded him like a form fitting glove. He hovered over her, supporting his weight with his arms and before he started rocking he kissed her sweetly on the lips, "I love you, Brenda Leigh, and I'll never stop saying it."

He hoped she would come quickly since he knew he wouldn't last. She was just too hot and too tight, and he was making a very swift ascent. His pace quickened as she whispered dirty sentiments into his ear, knowing what it did to him. Her hips kept in unison as he pushed on, harder and faster sliding over her slick sweaty body the friction between them lighting them on fire. He felt the pressure building being milked by wet heat, and the feel of her fingernails clawing his ass. The deep moans coming from her only told him he was hitting the right spot, as they climbed together reaching for the pinnacle of release. He felt her body quake and knew it was upon her and he thrust one last time his body stiffened as he exploded inside her leaving his mark.

He collapsed, breathing hard trying to come back to himself. He rolled off her and gathered her in his arms and reverently caressed her head, entangling her soft blond curls through his fingers. He loved her more than anything, "I'm glad we did this Brenda. I've missed you a whole lot." He placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

"I've missed you too Fritzy. I'm sorry it's been so long," she said, sadly. Hearing her voice only made him hug tighter. He always enjoyed sex with her this way, leaving a part of himself behind, and with that thought he realized there was now a part growing inside her…

Being with her had never been better and then thirty minutes later after their showers the hurricane blasted through after he simply asked why she didn't make the decaffeinated coffee. She blew her stack making wild accusations. He tried to tell her that he only cared, that he didn't say she was a bad person or wasn't taking care of herself. She had jumped to conclusions. He ran his hands through his hair once again thinking of the extraordinary morning they had making love, and the words he said to her with such meaning were ringing in his ears, "I love you, I'll never stop saying it." He picked up his phone.

She was on the lower level of the parking garage making her way to her car when she heard her cell ring to Fritz' tune. "Oh please, I can't do this again Fritz," she mumbled out loud as she dug into her purse finding the phone. She was exhausted and there was no way she could withstand another argument with him.

She opened the phone, "Hello," she said, in her normal but tired voice.

"Brenda," he paused, thinking of the right words to say, "I just want to say, you know, that I love you. I didn't say it earlier and I just wanted you to know. OK." He could hear the tightness in his voice. Why did he feel so weepy all of a sudden, isn't that a woman thing? He tried to shake it off.

"Fritzy," she used her term of endearment, feeling sad as the looming dark cloud fell in step with her, "I know you love me. We just need to talk. I'll be home in twenty minutes, OK. I love you too," she said, hearing the pitiful sound of her own voice. She was about to spill into tears again. What was wrong with her?

"OK then, I'll see you in twenty," he said quietly, feeling worry in the pit of his stomach.

She closed the phone and made her way through the deserted garage. She noticed a navy blue conversion van with tinted windows parked next to her with its tires on the white markings giving her little space to her door. She thought it odd the only two cars on this level were side by side. She noticed the "protect and serve" sticker in the right window along with the "thin blue line" striped decal. She hit the key fob to unlock her car. She squeezed through the uncomfortable space hoping she'd be able to open her car door. Had she been in a better frame of mind, she may have been in tune to the peculiarity of the situation, but having Fritz on her mind she was intent on getting home. She heard the quick slide of the van door as it opened. Startled, she turned abruptly into the tight space dropping her cell to the concrete, but her reaction was too slow when she felt a tight grip and the sting of a stun gun as it zapped the side of her neck sending her into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Revenge Part 2

Revenge Part 2

Inside the confines of the van she regained consciousness only to find her arms and legs tied spread eagle to what she did not know. Fear gripped her as she struggled to free herself thinking she was in the torture chamber of a sadomasochistic demon. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the screams that emanated from her throat were stifled by the gag in her mouth. She felt pain all over not knowing what he had been doing to her body. She looked down to see her blouse had been torn open and her bra was missing, along with her skirt and panties. She shook her head and pulled violently at the bindings demanding release, and then she felt the blow of the gloved fist smash into her face. The pain was excruciating leaving her disoriented. She stopped resisting trying to get her bearings. She had to think, use her mind to get out of what seemed like a hopeless situation. She was at his mercy. He had the power over life and death, and she knew from all the cases she'd worked it was usually death that ended most similar struggles. She thought of the irony, to give years to law enforcement, peering over victims meting out clues at a crime scene with the mission of finding a murderer, and now it would be one of her colleagues staring at her tortured corpse, and in a location considered to be the safest in the city, on her own turf at Parker Center. A scream manifesting from the deepest recess of her soul made its way to her mouth registering the overwhelming terror bursting from within. She was going to die here. She felt another blow to her head, and this time she barely held consciousness. She was sobbing, and had she been able to speak she would have been begging for her life.

There was no doubt in her mind he was a monster for what he did, deriving pleasure from her intense pain. She knew the fear in her eyes only goaded him to more wicked acts. Her tormented body was shrieking from the stick he had beaten her with and she recoiled at the thought of any other tools of abuse he'd use against her. She knew she had been sexually assaulted, but couldn't remember it, thinking she'd been unconscious at the time. He placed the serrated blade of the large hunter's knife to her neck causing her to gasp into the gag. She knew he would slit her throat and her life would be over. The point flitted against her carotid artery and then he made a three inch grazing cut causing her to bleed. "Do not struggle against me, or I'll go deeper," he said, his head was donned in a leather mask, and the smell of his breath and reeking body odor caused bile to rise in her throat. He manhandled her breasts evoking groans of agony to escape her, the pain numbing, and then she felt his mouth biting hard breaking her skin. He was a despicable creature capable of inflicting vile acts, but this she had not anticipated. He reached down and cut free the straps holding her legs. He flipped her over causing her body to contort harshly since her arms were still bound, and then she felt it, the pain so insidious and excruciating stars danced in her eyes, and she sobbed hoping to black out to free herself from this misery, and the last thing to transverse her mind was the baby she would never hold.

She came to and was on her back again, and he was over her with his leather mask pressed into her face and he spoke in a growl, "Paybacks are hell, aren't they," he laughed demonically having enjoyed brutalizing her, "now you know what it's like to be fucked over. Just so you know I'm making a deal with you, I'm going to let you live, but I'll be doing this again someday. I'll stalk you and wait for a convenient time. You'll be thinking of me the rest of your life, Chief Johnson. That's my little agreement with you. And I'm good for my word, just like you." He laughed sinisterly.

She knew the eyes. She had seen them before but couldn't place them. From his words he was someone she'd come in contact with along the way, obviously seeking revenge against her. Was it Atlanta, D.C or LA? There had been so many damn cases she didn't know, and with that thought she felt the sting of the stun gun on her chest.

Sergeant Gabriel didn't think he was going to be long finishing the last details on the Reed case, but he was so engrossed in his work that when he looked at his watch ninety minutes had ticked away. Laundry and packing were on the agenda for the evening and with his flight leaving at 5:30 he'd more than likely be up all night. He took his report to Chief Johnson's office and dropped it in the wire basket. She always scrutinized every report before giving her stamp of approval. Every detective in the squad was exceptionally qualified, and she needlessly proofed reports clearly demonstrating her overworking micromanagement style controlling a case down to the last dotted I and crossed T.

He knew something was up seeing her flushed face. It was never hot in her office, and if it had been she would've taken off her blazer. She must have forgotten he was a detective. Well schooled in reading people, he could spot her lie a mile away. He decided not to call her on it since he suspected it was something with Fritz. Over the past few years he'd come to know her quite well, and she conveniently changed the subject at the mention of Fritz's name. More often than not it's what hasn't been said that is most telling. Who exactly stays late on a Friday night with the start of a holiday weekend anyway? Everyone wants to get the heck out of Dodge, unless you're intentionally staying. And she didn't bother to say goodbye when she left. She and Fritz were in a fight there was no doubt in his mind. He noticed the drawer to her desk was left open. He thought it unusual since she normally locked it tight. He leaned over to close it and found it heaping with candy bars and had to smile. He heard his stomach growl and reached to take one, but thought better of it since she undoubtedly had them catalogued, and it wouldn't be right to prowl around in her desk anyway. He closed the drawer, and turned to go.

Sergeant Gabriel had been a basement dweller, and it was his least favorite of parking places. The hour was late and the garage was empty except for his black Jeep 4x4 calling his name. Making his way to the SUV he heard the start of a car engine in a realm above him thinking some other poor bastard had been working late too. He started his car and checked his phone while the engine warmed. He saw that Irene had left a text message for him to call when he had a minute. He hit the speed dial on his phone, but was disappointed in having to leave a voice message. He backed out of the space and began the circle up two levels for the exit. As he turned the corner with one level to go he noticed the Chief's light blue Crown Vic sitting in a space ahead. He thought it odd, being under the impression she had left the office well ahead of him. Approaching the car he noticed the interior dome light was illuminated, and as he passed, the driver's door was slightly ajar and what appeared to be a cell phone scattered in pieces on the concrete. His heart jumped out of his chest knowing something was definitely amiss. He put his car in park taking his cell with him, and rushed to the Chief's driver's door. He gasped as he peered through the window seeing her naked on the seat bloodied and beaten and he wasn't sure if she was alive. "Oh, my God…Oh my God, Chief," he said, as he opened the car door. He called out her name, and she moved her hand to her face and moaned. Thank God she wasn't dead. He was halfway in the car, but stepped out and placed the "officer down, in need of assistance" call. In two minutes the cavalry would arrive. He rushed to the passenger side and opened the door and checked the cut on her neck. Coagulated blood was oozing from the wound and he took the clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and applied pressure. He could see puffiness and bruising form over her fair complexion. Her lip was split and bleeding and a trickle of blood pooled around her left nostril. She was groggy from the beating and coming to she opened her eyes and whispered, "Sergeant Gabriel, help me. I'm hurt." She reached her hand in a gesture for his and he quickly gave it to her.

"Chief," he said, close to her ear, "I'm here, it's gonna be OK, just hang in there." He gently caressed the side of her face with the palm of his hand. He didn't know what else to do for her. He quickly glanced at her body and was repulsed at her injuries. Tears sprang to his eyes and then he spoke close to her ear, choking out the words, "hang in there, it'll be all right I have help coming."

Tears pooled in Brenda's eyes and slid down the side of her face, "my baby, God, please let my baby be alright." She kept repeating it, and Gabriel found it hard to maintain his composure.

"Chief, it'll be all right. Don't worry," he said, his voice breaking up. He continued caressing the side of her face unable to speak unemotionally, and felt his own tears slipping from his eyes.

In the matter of minutes the garage was swarming with LAPD uniforms and EMT's. They quickly loaded the Chief in an ambulance taking her to Cedars Sinai Hospital, and the investigation to the ghastly crime against one of their own had begun.

Fritz was glad he called and told her the words he said he'd never stop saying, but it was the depth of sadness he heard in her voice that had him bewildered wishing she was already home so he could take her into his arms and apologize. They needed to talk, and she seemed willing. He wanted to get to the bottom of her aggravation, which he understood to be him, along with the unwelcome pregnancy. He hoped somehow he could make her happy, but in his present dispirited mood it seemed an impossible task. He looked at his watch and thought she'd be home just before one A.M. and he set about clearing the table of his gun cleaning supplies. His nine year run of perfection had come to a screeching halt. He even had a cheering section, a group of agents wanting to see a record set. Never had the annual weapons qualification meant so much, and he was determined to earn his perfect score for the tenth year in a row. He used his Heckler and Koch 45 caliber universal self loading pistol, a semi-automatic, which was like an extension of his right hand. In fact he looked at his sidearm as a permanent part of his body, significant as his heart and lungs. He was never without it since it saved his life too many times. He had to acquire special permission to carry the H&K since it wasn't department issue, and although the Sig Sauer was a reputable weapon the German made H&K not only fit his hand better, but had an excellent record for reliability and safety. When it counted most he didn't want a gun that jammed or exploded into his hand in the event of an ammunition overload.

He wanted and early start to fire a few practice rounds, but chose to be with Brenda instead. He wasn't regretful about that, only the argument and anger they had left each other with, and he took it to the range with him. Qualifying meant meeting the standards in marksmanship with engaging targets in particular ways, such as shooting at several marks at once, or on the move maneuvering around barriers and the most difficult, at least for him, was using his weak hand. It wasn't an easy assignment since each event was timed, and Fritz had taken pride in the fact he'd scored well for so many years, but thinking about Brenda he lacked the concentration needed and flat out missed a target, the whole sheet entirely and dually noted the gasp coming from his audience. His final score was a ninety nine and it was a major disappointment. He knew he'd forever be known as the guy who choked under pressure, but was moved when his fellow agents came to congratulate him anyway. The only reason for this he fathomed was that he could shoot far better than any one of them.

He cleaned his gun earlier in the evening tearing it apart and removing the black carbon dust within the barrel and working parts. Take care of your weapon and it will take care of you couldn't be truer. He was meticulous with cleaning and oiling his gun after each practice session at the range, which occurred a few times each month, and he always grabbed Brenda's nine millimeter Sig and cleaned it too. Even though her gun wasn't used very often he wanted to make sure it remained in good working order, dirt was the biggest culprit for a gun not firing and he never wanted her in a situation where this occurred.

He picked up his extra magazine and filled it with Winchester Ranger T's, 45 caliber bullets used mainly by those in law enforcement. They were known as "man stoppers" in that they could take out a criminal with one hit. Upon impact the bullets would mushroom open and razor-like "talon" edges could rip and carve a large hole into the person immediately taking out vital organs sending them to the ground disabling them from returning fire. Fritz couldn't begin to guess the number of law enforcement lives saved by the use of these bullets alone, and with that they were the only ones he put in his weapon.

He was worried. She should have been home thirty minutes ago, and her cell went directly to voice mail. He called her office number hoping she was still there perhaps sidetracked by something unexpected, which had always been her convenient excuse. But he ruled that out since she sounded exceptionally tired and ready to come home. Uneasiness settled over him and with the passing of ten more minutes and his inability to contact her he retrieved his jacket and headed for the door. Thinking her car was broken down on the side of the road, or a worse scenario that she'd been hurt in a car accident, he intended to find her. He opened the door to an LAPD uniform who was ready to ring the bell. Fritz stood frozen unable to speak. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach rolled because this could only mean bad news. He tried to remain calm and listen through the roaring in his ears hoping he wouldn't say she was killed in a car accident.

He was matter of fact, "Agent Howard, I'm Officer Wenzel, LAPD. I'm here to inform you that your wife has been injured and I'm to escort you to Cedar's Sinai."

Fritz thinking she'd been in a car accident asked quickly, "How bad is she?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I wasn't given any details. I was told to bring you to Cedars. The orders came from Chief Pope," he said, earnestly.

"Chief Pope," Fritz asked confused, "Was she involved in a car accident?"

"No, Sir," said Officer Wenzel. He spoke slowly and grudgingly, "Chief Johnson was assaulted in the parking garage at Parker Center. I was given no other information regarding her condition, only to bring you to the hospital."

He couldn't deny being relieved that Brenda wasn't killed, but tension coursed through his veins at the thought of her being assaulted. How… and what type of injuries did she sustain? "What kind of assault are we talking here," he gasped.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you anything because I don't know."

He sounded forthright and honest so Fritz didn't push him. It was just like Pope to send an uninformed officer, forgoing an immediate phone call to him directly. "I don't need Pope's escort," Fritz blurted out, "I can drive myself." The loving husband, the one that meant most to her was the last to know, and more than likely her whole squad was there trying to solve the crime. The slightest mark of anger was writing itself on his heart and he was doing his best to wipe it away. He didn't need this right now. He locked the door and stepped onto the porch. He could feel a trickle of sweat run down his back, and a slick sheen had formed over his brow.


	3. Chapter 3

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Revenge Part 3

Revenge Part 3

She stared at the bright fluorescent lights washing over her wanting it to be a dream, but it wasn't. It was a nightmarish horror, so vivid, so damaging real that she tried her best to focus on something other than the pain racking her body. She told herself to concentrate on the aspect of the crime itself. She churned it through her mind remembering the way he looked, the way he acted, the words he spoke. It all had meaning and the least detail could be the most significant. She had learned a long time ago never to overlook a single one. As she tore it apart bit by bit the methodical process allowed a blanket of calmness to settle over her, pulling her away from the chaotic torment and hurt deep inside. This was just another case she reasoned, never mind that she was the victim. She would separate herself emotionally, and rationally examine the situation as if it were someone else, and having removed herself from the equation she could view it from the outside, untouched. She was Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, CIA-trained, hard ass bitch, world-class interrogator and she could handle this; by God she was The Closer, tough and strong. She would do everything in her power to see this monster put away, and that's the way it was going to be she decided. Determined, she refused to think about her injuries, her baby, her husband, and put on the slim veneer of strength masking the monumental affliction underneath, which threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. She would slip herself into the world she knew best, the one she was experienced and comfortable with, the one she would hold to with all her might. And this unconscionable act committed against her would be pushed down, impersonalized, because the life changing repercussions were more than she could bear. She was fine, a tower of strength on the outside, one she would permit them to see, but she refused to reveal the damaged empty shell that was on the inside, the one that needed protected.

Dr. Thompson entered the room. She was a petite spunky blond with kind blue eyes who had examined her earlier for life threatening injuries. She walked to Brenda's bedside and patted her arm, "Chief Johnson, you have a crowd out there in the waiting room, and a couple of lady detectives are eager to get your statement. Do you want me to send them in or do you need a little more time?"

"No, you can send them in. And you said earlier that a special nurse was coming to do the forensics?"

"Yes, Regina Lawson, nice gal, the best in the business if you ask me, works pretty close with your LAPD people. I think she knows the two lady detectives rather well. She should be here within the next fifteen minutes or so," Dr. Thompson said looking at the clock on the wall. "She'll do the examination and collect all the evidence." She smiled at Brenda hoping to ease her mind.

"Before the detectives come in I need to speak to Chief Pope first. He's the guy in charge, the bald one," Brenda said, gearing herself for a battle knowing she'd have to strap a pair on for this one.

"Yes, I've spoken with Chief Pope a couple of times. I'll send him in," she said, and turned to go. "Do you need anything?"

Yes, Brenda thought, I need the hands of time turned back to make all this go away. "No, just Chief Pope," she said.

Brenda pulled what was left of her short sleeve blouse around her noticing the deep bruising on her battered arms. She brought the sheet over her shoulders to her neck, tucking her arms underneath. She was still naked waiting for the forensic exam to take place and until that happened nothing could be put on or taken off. She hadn't been at the hospital long, the wheels of the LAPD had been set in motion and things were moving rather quickly.

Pope entered the room and made his way to her side. He was glad that Gabriel had prepared him for this. He had raced to Parker Center when he received the phone call, and after being informed he sought out Gabriel who was sitting quietly in his Jeep clearly upset. Pope moved into the passenger seat noticing that Gabriel wouldn't meet his eye, but stared in the opposite direction looking out the window. Pope spoke first, "I need to know what you know," he said, feeling his heart in his throat, Gabriel's reaction unnerved him. This would be bad, he knew it.

"She's hurt, Chief, real bad," Gabriel said, in monotone, trying to hold it together and doing a poor job of it. "Her whole body was beaten. He threw her into the seat of her car naked and bleeding. I thought she was dead at first. There's no doubt in my mind that he raped her," his voice cracked and he reached up and brushed the wetness from his eyes. "The worse part, she's pregnant. She kept asking God to let her baby be alright." He reached for a tissue he had taken from the box in the console and wiped his nose. Gabriel sniffed, "When we get this guy, I'm going to beat the living shit out of him, and I don't care what Chief Johnson thinks," his sadness now turning to anger.

Pope gasped at the words putting his hand to his bald head plainly agitated. He turned meeting Gabriel's eye this time, "That's if he's brought in alive." Pope said it like a cold steely proclamation, and his eyes embodied the true blue iciness of the Arctic Ocean.

Brenda could see Pope's distressed expression, and when he spoke she heard the gasp in his voice, "Brenda," he said. It was painful to hear the one word spoken so emotionally and she knew immediately this wouldn't work for her. She had to stand solid and firm, which couldn't be done with shaky faltering colleagues. It was hard for him; laying eyes on someone he cared for who looked as if they went ten rounds with George Forman and the agony written on his face and the slight shimmer in his blue eyes told her it was time to put on the breaks, and set things straight from the beginning. There were some things she couldn't allow.

She took her arm from beneath the cover and pointed her finger rudely, "Don't you dare look at me that way," she said, her voice filled with anger. "I don't need this. So stop it right now." She was shooting daggers at him clearly showing she was not to be reckoned with.

He was momentarily shocked at her response, but then realized it was her way of dealing with it. He had to admire her courage to be strong under such appalling circumstances. He could tell she was in her Deputy Chief all-power mode, wanting to call the shots as though his decisions were pitiable and shouldn't be trusted. She wouldn't be easy to deal with, and one side of him didn't want to further agitate an already injured woman. He was walking a fine line of hard choices. He could tell by the look in those determined eyes the next words from her mouth would have to do with working her own case. He would never approve it, but would follow department policy. Commander Taylor's Special Rape Section of the Robbery Homicide Division would take it. They were good at this, and they knew their jobs. She was out and so was PHD. Chief Johnson would have to accept it.

He stared at her awhile before he spoke noticing the fierce look in her dark eyes that never seemed to fade. "You're not handling it, Brenda, so don't even think about it, don't even ask, No...positively No!" he said with finality shaking his head.

She glared at him, "I want in on it with my people. It can officially be Commander Taylor's. I have no problem with that, but I want to work this thing Will. So you need to tell me yes!" She took a deep breath for the rant she was heading into, ""No" is not acceptable. Look at me Will. Look at what this bastard has done. So don't stand there and tell me I can't work this case. I have to work it even if it's without your approval!" She could feel the heat in her face with her veiled threat. She wasn't giving up.

"Brenda, I don't like the way this conversation is going. You need to be taken care of and we can talk about this some other time, but not right now. And one more thing, don't push me on this because I'm not going to be steamrolled. I'm the boss, and I make the decisions so don't press your luck." He said it in a calm, but stern way. He meant business and that meant putting his best people in place to solve this crime, which happened to be RHD's Special Rape Section. The last thing he needed was to deal with PHD shenanigans and he wouldn't be hoodwinked in having his authority undermined. "Brenda, I'm going to go now. You need to be looked after," he said gently patting her hand.

"Will," she grabbed his hand and held it tightly almost in desperation, "please, I'll beg if I have to. Let me in on it." She said it with such earnestness that it touched a sensitive part of his heart and he wasn't sure if he could deny her request, especially seeing the glistening in her brown eyes. He gazed at her closely, trying to read them, and he thought he understood. Working this case…her case…allowed her to hold on. He could feel the slight sting of tears and he quickly blinked them away. Her beaten face looked pitiful, and all he wanted was to catch the son of a bitch and have him pay for what he did, but it was the softer side, the hurt side of Brenda Leigh Johnson that made him change his mind. He nodded his head once, "We'll talk about it later. We'll work it out," he said softly. Without a thought, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He held great affection for her, would always love her, and wanted to show how much he cared. He turned to go.

"Will, has anyone talked to Agent Howard?"

He noted the peculiarity of the question, at least in referring to Fritz as Agent Howard, but he didn't say anything in regard to it, "I have a uniform going out to the house now."

"When he gets here I want him out of this room until I say. Alright? Put one of the officers on the door for me because he'll try to get in. I'm sure he'll flash that FBI badge of his, so the officer needs to be prepared. Howard stays out under all circumstances until I call for him. Got it?"

"Brenda, I got it, but are you sure you want this," Will asked in confusion, thinking how hurt and angry Fritz would be, and he didn't want in the middle of it.

Brenda sighed in irritation, "Yes it's what I want or I wouldn't be sayin'!"

The dynamic duo as they were known came into the room. They had 45 years between them working Special Rape and together they did one hell of a job. Marlie Roark was the younger of the two with a sharp deductive mind. She could quickly put a picture together knowing the exact questions to ask. Her only weakness was her people skills, and with being in the upper echelons of intelligence she often came off as cold and unfeeling. It was an unfair statement because nothing could be further from the truth. Fighting for her victims seemed to be her main purpose in life, which led her to make many personal sacrifices for the sake of the job, including the end of her ten year marriage. Mindy Cramer was the older, touchy feely grandmotherly type, and her easy going, good nature more than made up for Marlie's inadequacy. It was her kind eyes and expressions, and a genuine down to earth personableness that made victims feel comfortable in explaining the horrific atrocities committed against them. Marlie the younger petite blond and Mindy the older heavier brunette couldn't be more opposite in their make-up, but together they made the best team in the section and their squad had affectionately and teasingly penned them Roark and Mindy. For them, this case couldn't have been more personal having it happen to one of their own, and it was their intention to relentlessly pursue the perp and to cut off his nuts. They decided this just before entering Chief Johnson's room.

After introductions Mindy grabbed the chair next to the Chief's bed as Mindy stood on the opposite side with her notebook in hand. The interview proved a difficult start, since Chief Johnson herself was being difficult in wanting all her questions answered first. Mindy and Marlie gave each other a knowing look since Chief Pope had forewarned them about Chief Johnson's problematic nature.

"Chief Johnson, with all due respect, we really need to have you answer our questions," Mindy said respectfully, "We know how hard this is, and being the detective yourself you want answers, but at this time we know so very little and I want to change that. We need to get looking for this guy, and you can help us most."

Brenda shook her head, and with a hard look in her eye she gave her long statement explaining every detail she remembered from the time she closed her phone ending the conversation with Fritz, to holding Sgt. Gabriel's hand in her Crown Vic. It was easy since she had gone over it before in her mind, and she was satisfied that her voice never wavered in describing the attack. She was professional, direct, and matter-of-fact. "If they're pulling all the surveillance cameras in the parking garage you may be able to get the plate on the van, maybe if we're lucky a picture of the guy too. Although, I'm sure all the windows were tinted. The decals might help. The inside of the van had no rear seats." Brenda said, reiterating important facts.

"Chief Johnson," Marlie spoke up, "we appreciate your frankness and I think you have given us very useful information. I want to read back what I have, if you need to correct or add just interrupt," she looked at Brenda with her clear blue eyes waiting for acknowledgment then went on, "you left your office just after 12:30 a.m. and talked to your husband on your cell in the parking garage. You notice the navy blue conversion van parked next to your car with its tires on the white markings giving you little space to your door. You presume the owner of the van is LAPD family due to the decals in the rear window. You're at your car door when the perp slides open the van door attacks you with a stun gun. You wake up in the van; you're tied down and sexually assaulted. You are punched, bitten and beaten with a stick. You describe the attacker as a medium build white male, unsure of age, approximately 145 lbs and very strong. He wears a leather mask, gloves and black clothes. He tells you this is payback that now you'll know what it's like to be fucked over. He is making a deal and will let you live, but will do this again someday and will stalk you. He is good for his word like you. You're convinced he is someone you have come in contact with in your career as a law enforcement officer."

"That's all I can remember right now," Brenda said. She decided not to tell them she knew his eyes, but that bit of information would be left for her team.

There was a knock on the door and Regina Lawson poked her head in, "Excuse me ladies. I'm ready to do the forensic exam when you're finished. I just wanted to let you know I was here, Chief Pope's orders."

The hardest part for Regina Lawson was establishing a rapport with her patient since she never knew the state of mind they would be in as she began the forensic collection of evidence. She'd seen it all, at least every reaction possible, from hysterical to disconnected, and just about everything in between. The circumstances were always difficult and she was very sympathetic and understanding of her patient's victimization. This was a life changing personal offense and she wanted the examination to be the least memorable.

She had always used an assistant in the past to hurry things along, but found her patients were more comfortable with just her, and the few extra minutes saved really made no difference anyway. She took her time and explained the entire process, when patients understood the how and why they were less anxious.

She worked as an RN for fifteen years as a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner or as the acronym would have it, a SANE. She was highly trained in collecting forensic evidence from sexual assault victims and worked closely with local law enforcement agencies. She was in high demand and felt it a compliment to her ability. When she received the call that one of LAPD's finest had been brutally assaulted she immediately dropped everything she was doing, and headed straight to the hospital knowing her husband would be a little perturbed she had so abruptly left his loving arms.

She wheeled a cart into the room containing the supplies she would need including the rape kit, and then set it up in an orderly fashion for documentation. She introduced herself, and quickly noticed that Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson had the sheet pulled entirely over her body exposing only her head. Her face was battered with bruising primarily on the left side indicating a right handed attacker. Her eye was swollen and she could already see purple stains underneath. He nailed her good, probably a few times. There was a small bandage on her neck, which would be removed and photographed.

"Brenda, I'm going to explain everything that I'll be doing," Regina said, patting her arm through the sheet, "if you have any questions please ask. I know this is very hard and you may think it humiliating, but I've been doing this for a very long time, and it's just me and you here. I want you to be comfortable. We need to get the evidence and I don't have to tell you how important that is."

Brenda remained silent and only nodded her head.

Regina went on, "You know, if there's someone supportive you'd like to have with you, maybe your husband, we could bring them in."

"No," Brenda snapped, "I have strict orders to keep him out until I'm ready. I don't want him here, especially for this," she said it in a gasp.

"That's fine," Regina said reassuringly, "I only want what's best for you, you want him out then he's out." She smiled and rubbed Brenda's arm this time.

Brenda hated this, and Nurse Regina was being too damn nice and she didn't have the heart to act like a rude bitch, but then she didn't want to fall to pieces either. She'd just have to give herself pep talks for strength with every agonizing step of the process. She sighed despairingly, detesting every moment.

Brenda stood on the white paper spread on the floor and removed the only shred of clothing left on her body. The blouse with the buttons ripped away, was wrapped, bagged and tagged. Regina then photographed every part of her injured body, entailing the bruises, the cuts, and five stun gun burns. As she stood there grimacing inside with every click of the camera, Brenda felt a slow trickle of wetness between her legs. She looked down and saw the dark redness of blood against the stark paleness of her skin. She couldn't take her eyes from it. Reality was closing in on her fast and she felt the swift sting of tears come to her eyes, and her heart pounded out of her chest. Faltering, she thought she was going to pass out, but pleaded to herself to get a grip. She couldn't think about her baby just now, or she'd crack up. She felt the start of small tremors deep within her body threatening to bubble to the surface, but she forced them back to the lowest depths of her soul, where they had to remain.

"Brenda, are you alright?" Regina had been behind her photographing the bruises on her back, and noticed the slight slumping to Brenda's shoulders.

"Are you almost done because I need to sit down? I'm starting to bleed," Brenda said with despondent fear in her voice, and she wiped the lone tear that escaped her black eye.

Regina helped her to the bed, "It won't be much longer Brenda. I'll hurry."

"Did they tell you, that I'm pregnant," Brenda asked squeezing her eyes closed. Be strong she told herself…but thoughts of losing her baby surged through her mind,…she just couldn't think about it and tried her best to block it out.

"Yes, Dr. Thompson informed me, and I read all the chart notes. Brenda, it doesn't mean you've lost it. So hang in there, OK. I've had cases like this and everything turned out fine."

She decided she liked Regina Lawson, saying the one thing she needed to hear giving her hope and strength, and the ability to endure the rest of the exam.

Regina worked quickly and diligently. She photographed areas of bruising and tearing in the pelvic area, and using a Wood's lamp she identified semen stains and collected swabs vaginally and rectally, and on both sides of her inner thighs. They'd be used for DNA analysis and testing for sexually transmitted diseases. She prepared a wet mount of vaginal secretions for motile sperm and preserved additional slides to determine the presence of acid phosphatase an indicator of recent coitus. She combed Brenda's pubic hair for trace evidence in case the assailant left his behind, and then cut Brenda's to be used for comparison. She collected scrapings from underneath Brenda's fingernails in the event she scratched her assailant. Regina went through her list making sure she followed complete protocol, and meticulously documented everything. She drew several tubes of blood for STD checks including HIV. The rape kit was then secured in a box, which Regina would hand over to Detectives Roark and Mindy ensuring the chain of custody.

Brenda was amazed at Regina's efficiency as she looked at the clock. The procedure had gone quickly. "Brenda, you'll be able to take a shower now. Here is a hospital gown and underwear, and there are feminine products in the bathroom. I'm sure Dr. Thompson will want to examine you further. Brenda there is one other thing and it's personal. Have you been with your husband in the last forty-eight hours? If so then I'll need a DNA sample from him."

"He'll be here soon; Chief Pope sent a uniform to get him. Hopefully you won't have to wait long to get the sample," she said. She couldn't think about Fritz right now, it hurt too much.

After a short, hot shower Brenda felt a little better. Fresh sheets with a blanket had been placed on the bed, and she crawled underneath her body still aching. Regina was finishing her investigative notes.

"Brenda, I'm going to hand this over to the LAPD, is there anything I can get for you," Regina said, as she made her way to Brenda's bedside.

"Could you tell Chief Pope that I want my team in here after I see Dr. Thompson, do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all, I'll be glad to," Regina said, giving Brenda a small hug.

"Thanks, Regina. Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome Brenda. I'll be thinking of you."

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews. I really appreciate them!**


	4. Chapter 4

Revenge Part 4

Revenge Part 4

There was comfort in having her team together in the small room and even though the situation was a bit awkward it allowed her to focus on the task at hand as if it were any other case they had worked on in the past. The only difference in her mind was she didn't have her white dry erase board in front of her, and the absence of Lt. Tao and Detective Sanchez who had flown out Thursday evening for a Forensics conference in Chicago. She had gone over the details of the assault with them in a professional manner, as though it were some other woman who was brutally beaten and raped having successfully separated herself from the crime, but she could tell they were having a hard time with it in seeing her battered face, and they avoided eye contact. Pope had informed them earlier she would not tolerate any sympathetic concern. Lt. Flynn paced the back of the room like a caged tiger, and she could see he was becoming more agitated as the discussion wore on with his jerky movements and brusque sarcastic comments, which she ignored. Lt. Provenza sat in a chair by the small table looking weary as he ran his hand through his white hair. Sgt. Gabriel stood beside her like a sentry with his notebook and pen, prepared and ready, but he was unusually quiet.

Pope was near the door and even though he approved the meeting he was wondering if it may have been a mistake seeing the reactions of her squad. They were too close, and it was too hard for them hearing the atrociousness of the crime, and then to have it described so collectedly as if it hadn't affected her at all. It was disconcerting to say the least, and he kept his eye on the often volatile Flynn who appeared ready to blow his stack any second. Pope decided to make this meeting very short. RHD would be doing the grunt of the work anyway, but he wanted to grant Brenda's wish to work the case.

"Gentleman, we need to find that van," Brenda said, with pep in her voice, ever eager with the start of a new case. "Lt. Provenza, I need you to go through all those surveillance tapes of the garage and surrounding areas of Parker Center. We need that plate number and we may be lucky to get a glimpse of this guy," she ordered, as though Detectives Cramer and Roark of RHD were no longer in the picture. "Sgt. Gabriel, I want you to pull every case file I've worked. I know this guy, I know his eyes, but I'm just not sure which city," she said, contemplating, "but we'll start in LA."

"Chief, that's well over two hundred cases to come across your desk, not to mention everyone associated with each one. I mean, do you think this guy was someone you actually put in prison, or a disgruntled family member or friend. We're talking a lot of people here, could take days to go through." Gabriel was thinking of her. It was too much work to view every picture and every mug shot. She was hurt and needed to recover at home.

"I'm fine Sgt Gabriel," she looked at him frowning, "never mind that, you're going out of town for the weekend. I'm sorry I forgot. Lt. Flynn, I'll need you to pull those files for me instead."

Flynn pacing furiously stopped dead in his tracks to glare at her, as Sgt. Gabriel spoke up, "Chief, I can do that for you. My plans for the weekend have changed. Irene's coming to LA, and if you didn't mind we'd like to work this together."

"Sgt. Gabriel, are you sure? You know I want you here with me. I appreciate it and Irene's help too." She smiled brightly at Gabriel, and then turned her gaze to Flynn giving him a disapproving scowl. "Lt. Flynn, they're putting a rush on the DNA so when we get the results I want you to put it through the national database. Hopefully, we'll get a hit," she said giving him a hard stare.

It couldn't have been a worse assignment. DNA in this case meant the presence of semen, and semen corresponded to her brutal rape, which seemingly didn't happen to her by the way she talked. This was insane, to let her work her own case. She needed to be home with her husband away from this. The heat of his anger was scaling upward at a phenomenal rate, and the thought of her unborn child sent him through the roof, and he could no longer hold his tongue.

He stomped to her bedside heatedly, red-faced with anger, which pulled Lt. Provenza from his chair to commandeer the situation. "This is fucking bullshit," Flynn pointed his finger at Brenda, and shot daggers at Pope who was making his way to Brenda's bedside. "You have no goddamn business running this. You need to be home with Fritz taking care of yourself and your baby. Let us handle it. We can get this mother fucker without your help!" Flynn was hot and his loud voice echoed off the walls, as Provenza grabbed his arm tugging him back. Flynn flagrantly yanked himself from Provenza's grasp, not having any of it, "Dammit, can't you see you're fucking hurt," he asked boomingly, shaking his head in frustration, as if his roaring voice would somehow disengage the tears quickly forming in his eyes. He blinked hard and heavy sending them away, and then huffed like an angry bull, trying not to show his sensitivity.

In her opinion Flynn had always been the most excitable of her squad, so this outburst did not surprise her, nor did his word choice. Flynn worked in profanity like an artist worked in clay. The F-word was his medium, and he could mold it and manipulate it effortlessly, skillfully changing intonation allowing it to take on a whole new shape in meaning. He was a master. What did bother her was seeing the tears in his eyes, and she knew she would have to cut him off at the knees.

"Lt. Flynn, I know more about this case than any of you, so don't push me," she said angrily, "I'm working this fucking case whether you like it or not. So you need to shut your mouth and do your job, or get the hell out of here," she said viciously, making a point to use his favorite word. She wouldn't back down.

Flynn was beside himself and damned near out of control, and her use of his F-word infuriated him all the more and he lashed out, "He fucking raped you. He beat the shit out of you. I can't ignore it, so when you bark orders at me I'm going to have a little fucking problem with it. This shouldn't be your case," he said, flailing his arms in a fit of anger. Provenza stepped in front of Flynn making an effort to corral him, as Pope quickly moved in to help. Flynn needed to cool down.

As if she didn't know what this beast had done to her, she thought sarcastically, and then yelled in anger, "Flynn, get your ass out of here. You're done," she heard the break in her voice, and felt the slight tremor working in her left hand which she quickly put under the blanket.

Flynn jerked himself away from Provenza and Pope, "Don't worry I'm fucking leaving," he said, the hurt evident in the expression on his face. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair, and turned to Pope glaring with a wild look in his eye, "this is fucking ridiculous and you know it." Flynn stormed from the room miffed, with Provenza trailing close behind. The thought had entered Pope's mind that it was indeed fucking ridiculous. He looked at Brenda wondering if this was helping at all as he second guessed his decision.

After Flynn's eruption the room was quiet. Brenda rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand suddenly feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion. "So, everyone knows I'm pregnant then," she said, looking at Gabriel. Gabriel made no effort to reply, but only looked away. The trembling of her left hand was more pronounced and Brenda squeezed it tightly in an attempt to control it. This wasn't good as worry crept into her thoughts, the first chink in her armor.

Flynn storming from the room met Fritz in the hallway, "It's a fucking joke in there. So prepare yourself," he chided. Provenza close on Flynn's heals stopped momentarily as Fritz came near, "Don't mind him. He's just having a bad day."

"Yeah, aren't' we all," Fritz replied, continuing on his way, anxious to see Brenda. It was obvious she had met with her team. It was what she thought of first and foremost, and again he would take the back seat to the job, the last to know, the least important. He was damn tired of coming in second and he tried to put a lid on the anger that was brewing inside. He wasn't sure of her injuries or the state of his unborn child, but she evidently was well enough to meet with her squad, and maybe that was a good sign. Brenda's room was at the end of the hall and he noticed the uniform at the door thinking Pope had good sense to guard it. He informed the officer he was here to see his wife as he pushed for the doorway, but the officer rudely stepped in front of him inhibiting his path.

"I'm sorry Agent Howard, but I've been given a direct order to keep you from the room. They're in a very important meeting," he said, authoritatively.

"Listen, I'm her husband and she's been injured, so I don't give a rat's ass about any meeting that's going on," Fritz said, pointedly. He wasn't in any mood for LAPD game playing, and shouldering past the officer he was unexpectedly strong armed away from the entrance. Fritz whipped out his FBI shield.

"Get your hands off me…Stinson," Fritz said disdainfully, peering at the officer's name pin. "This is a Federal Badge and it gets me through the door, so I would suggest you move aside and quit giving me a hard time because you may just find my fist in your fucking face," Fritz said through gritted teeth, towering over Stinson invading his personal space. The last thing he needed was a pissing match with an LAPD roughneck.

Powerfully stocky Stinson launched Fritz into the wall, "Listen to me Agent Howard, that FBI badge carries no clout here, consider it a useless piece of shit. I was given a direct order by the Chief. You are not to be let into this room unless I'm told otherwise. So do yourself a fucking favor and back off before I kick your ass out of this hospital."

Fritz's patience was wearing thin and he shoved Stinson angrily, "Well, fuck Pope and his orders. You're not keeping me from my wife!"

"You dumb stupid son of a bitch, the order came from Chief Johnson, not Chief Pope! She wants your ass out! Get it through your head…she doesn't want you in there," he said harshly, knowing the information was useful as a swift kick to the gut.

"That's bullshit!" Fritz said incredulously. Infuriated at Stinson, and unable to restrain himself, he swung with a right fist as Stinson ducked, missing him altogether sent Fritz off balance enabling Stinson's fist to land squarely in his face knocking him back into the wall. Unfazed, Fritz went after him holding nothing back, until the scuffle was broken up by several LAPD officers. Outnumbered, Fritz was about to be cuffed and charged with assault until Sgt. Gabriel opened the door to Brenda's room.

"I'll take it from here officers. We all could use a little patience and a little compassion," Gabriel said disgustedly, hastily pulling Fritz from their grip. "Agent Howard, we're almost finished, you can come in now." Gabriel saw the redness on Fritz' cheek and wondered if things could get any worse. He felt exasperated.

Fritz shook off the officers, and glared at Stinson fighting the urge to knock his block off. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was worried sick and she intentionally kept him from the room. The guard on the door was for him, not the bastard that hurt her. He was angry, hurt and confused and not in the best mood and frame of mind.

He nearly came unglued seeing her bruised face, the animal had done a real number on her, and the thought of his wife being brutally worked over made his blood boil. He had a million questions and wanted them answered, but she avoided eye contact with him and was doing one hell of a job in ignoring him. She proceeded with her meeting that he'd rudely interrupted as if he didn't exist.

"Sgt. Gabriel, if you can get those files together I need to look at them as soon as possible. Are you really sure you want to cancel your holiday plans," Brenda asked.

"Chief, I wouldn't think of anything else. I'm here for you," Gabriel's said, staunchly loyal.

"I also need you to call Lt. Flynn when you leave. Tell him I need him with me. I hope that'll be enough to get him back." She saw Gabriel scribble in his notebook.

Fritz stood dumbfounded, she not only disregarded him, but her only concern was working the case. She was all business, standoffish and distant, the typical Brenda Leigh Johnson super woman. The way she was treating him was infuriating, and he tried to understand, but he had too many emotions clouding his perspective. He felt like a rubber band being stretched and pulled in too many directions and he was ready to snap.

She was in charge of investigating a crime against herself. It was preposterous and it had Pope's signature written all over it. He knew indisputably where his anger should be directed. He glowered at Pope who was standing straight and erect as a stone statue and Fritz fought the urge to take a sledge hammer to him. "This is your doing, isn't it," Fritz asked absurdly, taking a step toward Pope wanting to go for his throat. Pope put up his hand in a stop sign gesture and signaled him with a look that "this is not at all what it appears to be." Then Brenda finally spoke to him, but her eyes stayed at center mass on his chest.

"Agent Howard, you were given a direct order to stay outside until you were called for. You have no business creating a raucous stirring up more problems," she said sternly and in command. It sounded good, but she could feel the mask of strength slowly disintegrating. She wouldn't be able to hold on much longer before it crumbled away entirely. The trembling in her hand was now moving through her body and she was finding it impossible to keep it in check.

She was hurt, and Fritz needed to know the extent of her injuries, but she pushed him away and he found it enraging, "What are you fucking telling me Brenda," he demanded. He stood at the end of the bed with his hands on his hips waiting for an answer.

What was it with the F word she thought? She refused to engage him because she knew what would happen. She turned her head from him, and kept her mouth closed.

It was a scene Pope wanted no part of and knew it was time to make a quick exit. He stepped to the side of the bed, "Gabriel and I are done here. We'll talk tomorrow, Brenda."

She grabbed his hand in a desperate manner for the second time in one evening. "Will," she said, "Can you please help me with one other thing…the pictures…can you keep them out of the file?" Her eyes were tear-filled ready to leak down her face, and again it was the hurt Brenda Leigh Johnson that he could not refuse. Looking into her broken face and feeling his heart sink he squeezed her hand affectionately, and then kissed it sympathetically forgetting her husband was just a few feet away. "Consider it done, Brenda," he said quietly.

Pope turned without acknowledging Fritz and walked out the door with Gabriel in his wake.

Watching the interaction between them had left him shaky inside. She deliberately reached for Pope asking for his help, yet she kept him distant. Pope had meant more to her than he thought. His heart dropped to his knees witnessing the kiss to her hand and he felt devastated. He couldn't speak, but only pressed his lips together in aggrieved anger, waiting for an explanation. He'd stand there all day if he had to; the ball was in her court and she would have to make the next move. The room was silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing.

She was really working hard to be strong as she sat on the bed in an upright position, but she could feel his eyes penetrating her soul. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs trying to hold on, but the tremors invading her body were simmering to the surface melting her coat of armor. With her body quaking she felt vulnerable, exposed and terrified, and the pain she tried to suppress all along came in a wave so monstrous she knew she would drown. She reached out to him for rescue. He was her life preserver, the only one who could save her, the only one she'd let in. She put her hand out to him finally meeting his eye, pleading with her own, "Fritzy," she choked.

She looked small and frail in the bed with her arms wrapped around her. He could see she was visibly shaking and wanted to take her into his arms, but he wanted an explanation. When she met his eyes and he could see the pain exploding from her face he nearly went to his knees realizing in that moment his gross misinterpretation. It was all an act, a façade. She painted a beautiful picture of strength and courage, but it was just a covering, for the hurt and suffering directly underneath was revealed to him through the finest brush strokes. Her tower of strength had crumbled to the ground, and he ran to help her from the ruins.

He sat next to her putting her in his lap surrounding her with his arms, his warmth, and his love. Uncontrollable sobs racked her body as she buried her face into his chest, and he pulled her closer into his protective shelter willing her to become part of him. They had shared love and happiness, and seeing the depth of her excruciating pain he would gladly take it from her. He caressed her head, rubbed her back, kissed the tears from her cheeks. He gently rocked her whispering sweet words and sentiments of love into her ear, but he could not console her. When he heard her screams stifled through his t-shirt a terror like he had never known gripped his soul. Tears filled his eyes spilling over to his cheeks with the thought of the colossal damage done to his beautiful wife, and he wondered if he could put the pieces back together.

Her body was shaking against him and he took the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. He kissed her head, "Brenda, it's gonna be alright." He was trying to keep it together, afraid his own emotions would get the better of him and he'd topple to the ground with her. He put his cheek next to hers feeling the wetness between their skin, a mixture of their tears, "Settle down, it's gonna be alright. I'm right here with you. You're safe with me." He rocked her for a long while until she was quiet. He wiped his face and then hers.

"Fritz, I need you to hold me. I want you to hold me forever, don't let me go," she whispered.

"I'll never let you go," he said into her ear. Needs and wants. They were so different now then they were just a day ago when he passionately held her in his arms.

After a long while she spoke, "Fritz, I'm sorry. I should have been home with you." She was clinging to him, crying through her words.

He needed to know, "Brenda, what did this guy do?"

"I promise, Fritz. I'll do better. I'll get rid of all the chocolate. I won't eat it anymore."

"Brenda, please tell me what happened."

"I won't forget my vitamins ever again."

"Brenda, please talk to me, what did this guy do to you?"

"You know I love our baby. I just get afraid that I won't be a good mom. I'm sorry what I said to you earlier." The tears streamed down her face.

He was confused. This should have been their conversation had she made it home. He looked at her knowing there was something more in those dark haunting eyes, and it scared him.

"What is it," he asked, gently stroking the side of her face afraid of the answer.

"I'm bleeding," she said, through sobs.

His heart was definitely breaking, and it took every ounce of his power to ask the next question, "Did we lose it?" He heard the crack in his voice.

"I don't know," she said, pushing her face into his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Revenge Part 5

Revenge Part 5

Fritz turned the blinds to darken the bedroom creating an environment conducive for sleep since Brenda was exhausted. He turned off the phones, her cell and the land line thinking the least amount of disturbance was best, but kept his cell on knowing he'd be using it the rest of the morning. The first thing she needed was a hot shower, and the water had been running for the last fifteen minutes. She'd been very clear with him that she wanted privacy, and with her full length robe on the hook he doubted if he'd get a glimpse of her body. She was stonewalling him. He wanted details and she was unwilling to provide them. She changed the subject each time he asked, and getting nowhere he decided to give her the space, at least for a little while anyway. He was planning his own investigation. He fluffed her pillow and turned down the bed, and when he finally heard the water shut off, he knew she'd run out of hot water.

He could only see her silhouette through the curtain and when she slightly drew it back he was standing there with her robe in his hand. Normally she would allow him to help her with it, but this time she reached out and brought it into the shower with her handing him the towel she'd used.

"You know, I always help you with that Brenda," he said.

"I know, I just need to do it myself this time," she said weakly, hoping the explanation would do. She avoided the questions he kept asking and it was making her nervous. She was offering as little information as she could, never delving into the attack itself since it would mean reliving it, and she couldn't handle it. Not now anyway.

She stepped out of the shower avoiding eye contact and he noticed the robe was snug against her body and the belt cinched tight. She went to her dresser and searched through her drawer, and finding what she was looking for went into the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the click of the lock, outwardly shutting him out again. He sighed, this was going to be a struggle and he wasn't sure he had the patience or stamina to play the game this time.

"Can I make you some oatmeal or something? You really need to eat, Brenda," he called in to her.

"No,…no… I'm not hungry right now. I just want to take a nap and then I'll eat when I get up. I have a lot to do today. I want to get started on those mug shots, so I'll need to go into work for a little while," she told him. She made sure to lock the door to be certain he wouldn't walk in on her. She gently pulled the robe from her shoulders revealing her battered torso, which now appeared flaming red from the intense scrubbing with her loofah. She had to stand with her back against the spray because the water hitting her breasts was excruciating. She was bruised beyond belief, in fact mutilated was a better description. Her right nipple was red and swollen and felt as though it was bitten off. She had medicine for that, a whole bag they sent her home with, antibiotics, antivirals, antibacterial creams, a concoction of drugs to prevent HIV. And the pain below was indescribable, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to sit very long. She squeezed her eyes closed, suddenly feeling weak and nauseas with the thought. She could hear Fritz mutter something outside the door, but couldn't make it out.

Fritz' face grew hot with anger, and it was a good thing the door was between them so she didn't see his reaction. He mumbled a string of profanities under his breath, and then spoke up through the door, "Brenda, I don't want you going in today. Can't you just stay home? The doctor said you needed to take it easy the next few days. I can pick up the files and bring them home to you," he said, keeping a pleasant tone to his voice, holding back the reproving bellow he wanted to hurl. She was stubborn and getting his way was a matter of honey rather than vinegar.

"Okay, that sounds good. I'll call Sgt. Gabriel to make sure he has them ready."

He was struck by her compliance, damn that was easier then he thought, and then worry crept in, she would have gone in had she been up to it, this was her job after all, and he almost wished she'd fought him on it.

She took out the cream and delicately rubbed it on her breasts. She was crying again. Was it twenty five bite wound marks on her body? She couldn't remember what Regina Lawson told her, that whole part seemed like a blur. She'd have to read the forensics report. She reached into the bag and took out all the prescription bottles. She wasn't sure she could keep it straight. She'd have to go back for further tests and more exams to verify she wasn't positive for some terrible disease which she could give to Fritz. Her body was shaking again, as she removed the feminine pads from the bag, and leaning against the door she tried to silence the sounds coming from her throat.

After what seemed an eternity she came from the bathroom in a full length, long sleeved flannel gown covering her entire body, and definitely too hot for the middle of an LA summer. He could tell by her eyes that she'd been crying again.

He went to the dresser and took out a summer gown, sleeveless, short, and lightweight, one she looked lovely in. "Brenda, you're going to be too hot wearing that put this one on. You'll be more comfortable," he said, holding it out for her.

She passed by without taking it, "Fritz this one suits me fine. It's soft and warm," she said, barely audible. She crawled into bed, and tried to pull the lightweight blanket over her, but lacked the energy. She still had the shakes.

"Brenda, it's too hot…. please, put this one on." He was only thinking of her comfort.

"No!...I already told you I want the one I'm wearing," she snapped, not meaning to come off so harsh. She reached up to brush her hair from her face with her shaking hand. "I'm sorry, Fritz," she said, feebly, "I know you only care about me." She started crying again, and wondered if the tears would ever dry up.

He sat on the bed next to her, and brought the blanket to her shoulder tucking her in. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can adjust the thermostat so it stays nice and cool." He pushed his fingers through her damp hair pulling it back fanning it across the pillow. He bent down and trailed tender kisses from the base of her neck to her ear. "I love you sweetheart." He gently kissed her on the cheek tasting the saltiness of her tears, and then handed her the picture he picked up from the dresser.

She took it from him, and he could see a smile of happiness come to her face. It was an ultrasound picture of their baby. It had been a relief to know their growing child was fine, and seeing its heart beat and tiny body had only given her hope. The bleeding originated from her highly vascularized cervix, which was extra sensitive due to pregnancy. Brenda's obstetrician recommended rest, and said it would soon go away, but she was to call if it became worse. She enjoyed the touch of Fritz's lips and his loving affections "Hold me," she said.

He moved in behind her pressing his body against hers. He put his arm over her protectively, and then cupped his hand around hers, the one holding the picture. "You doin' okay," he asked, nestling close to her ear.

She knew his meaning, "I think its better. It's not any worse." She was so tired and closed her eyes. He felt so good behind her, "Don't leave me," she mumbled as she drifted into sleep, exhaustion overtaking her.

He waited until her breathing was slow and even, and then got up from the bed. He slid the door to the bedroom closed, and took out his briefcase and lap top. From his yellow steno pad he made a list of all his contacts. He would reach out to those he knew in the Bureau calling in favors. The first call went to his partner and close friend Jerry Carson, the guy whom he trusted with his life. He described the events to Jerry quickly and unemotionally and then asked for his help.

"Fritz, whatever you need man, I'm here for you," Jerry tried not to let the shock register in his voice. He couldn't blame Fritz for going after the bastard that hurt his wife, heck, he'd do the same if it was him, and not only that, but he trusted the ability of the FBI far greater than the simpletons over at the LAPD.

"She's not giving me anything on it, Jer. She won't talk about it. Do you still have that buddy at Parker, you know the one in SID," Fritz asked, hoping to garner some information.

"Hell yes and he owes me big time. I'll reach out Fritz. Consider the forensic report in your hot little hand as we speak. I'll demand it ASAP. You want me to send it electronically to your bureau e-mail, or do you want paper?"

"Send it electronically, it's faster, and Jerry I'm interested in the photographs too, you think it'll be a problem?"

"Nope, I'll get everything they have Fritz. Believe me this guy…he'll come through. Let's just say I have a way of putting the fear of God in him. By the way, I'm going to send out the word on my end Fritz, to everyone in the department and then some. We'll get this bastard. Is Brenda alright with it, you with the case?"

"Hell no, she wouldn't want me anywhere near this thing, and I'm not telling her either. She'll just want me to sit back on my ass and let her do all the work, like I'm gonna let that happen. Pope must be out of his fuckin' mind to let her be involved. I can't think of anything more ludicrous."

"Well, that's LAPD for you, too many half-wits over there if you ask me, no offense to Brenda, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know it. Listen Jerry, thanks for helping me with this. Call me if anything comes up, alright. I need to get a hold of the boss. I'm putting in for a two week leave. I hope you don't mind, but I can't do both."

"Take the leave Fritz, and don't feel bad about it. Remember you have lots of friends here buddy, and we'll be pullin' for you. Don't hesitate to ask for anything, anything at all."

Fritz finished his phone calls. He had a number of people he could rely on, including moles in RHD who would generously relinquish information. With all that he even managed to make a big pot of chicken noodle soup for Brenda. He scanned his e-mails frequently hoping Jerry made contact with his pal in SID. Brenda had been sleeping for the better part of four hours before he went in to check on her. She was on her back with the blankets heaped and twisted beside her looking as if she'd been in a wrestling match and the blankets lost. Her face was flushed a deep red and he could see sweat beaded on her forehead. The room felt cool and comfortable since he adjusted the thermostat, and he wondered if her appearance was related more to anxiety than temperature. He used the opportunity to examine her closely. The long night gown had been wrenched up over her legs and he instantly noticed the bruises around her ankles where she was bound, and contusions blotted her thighs. Her wrists showed the same thin, almost burn-like abrasions from the binding. He swallowed hard seeing how she must have struggled against them. The left side of her face was swollen and the dark purple coloring was making its way from her eye to her cheek. He noticed the faint red marks extending from her mouth, the result of a tightened gag. He desperately wanted to pull off the white bandage covering her neck to see the wound, unsure of what may have caused it. He fought the urge to disrobe her, to get rid of the long hot covering she chose to hide herself in. What was the damage beneath? She had a habit of concealing, walling herself off so he couldn't touch her. Didn't she trust him enough to expose her vulnerabilities and hurts, those things that should be shared by two people who love each other? He wanted to take her pain, to fix her, but she cut him off and cut him out. He stood there in a frustrated gaze, and he felt tears sting his eyes. He loved her more than the world. She looked so beautiful with her golden hair spread over the pillow, so innocent and delicate. Hovering over her in total observance he finally let the rage scorch his soul. It had been there all along, but he was unwilling to let it surface. This time he let himself feel it, an anger so powerful and consuming he knew it would drive him to kill. The thought of his sweet girl, his wife, his love, the mother of his child, being so brutally taken and violated only compelled him to respond justifiably, by using his own hand which would be holding his H&K 45. The hate in his heart was magnified a thousand fold, and so bitter he could taste it. He'd have to tame the fury, keep it at a slow and steady burn like embers in a fire, reigning in the wrathful thoughts blistering his mind, knowing the threat of a total ignition to a raging uncontainable inferno lay just beneath the surface. He stood back and took several deep breaths, trying to squelch his enmity.

He wasn't about to wake her and knew he would suffer the consequences of that decision since she'd want to be working the case. He left the room and called David Gabriel.

"Sergeant Gabriel," Fritz said into the phone.

"Fritz, how's the Chief doing?"

"She's resting right now. I know she'll want to get to work on those case files when she wakes up. I'm calling to see if you have them ready and I'll come and get them."

"I have about a third of them. Truthfully, it's been a slow go so far. I have a stack of the most recent ones, but most of the earlier cases are in boxes stored off site. Fritz, this is a monumental task, I don't think she realizes how much information she'll have to sort through. Many of these cases have three and four boxes of material. You know how thorough the Chief works."

"I know, but this is what she wants to work on and there's no changing her mind. When would be a good time for me to come in?"

"I'll be here the rest of the afternoon, so whatever is convenient for you."

Fritz was checking his email as he talked with Gabriel and noticed a new message from Jerry. He quickly pulled it up…"Fritz, have the information you need on a flash drive, forbidden to send through email. Call me. Jerry." Fritz closed it out.

"I'm going to leave here shortly, so I should be there within the hour. David, I know you found Brenda, and I wanted to say thanks." Fritz was unsure how to ask the next question, but decided to be honest and get straight to the point. "You're always there for her as her partner and friend, so I'll be truthful, she's not talking to me at all, and I need to know what happened to her, will you tell me what went on in that van?"

Gabriel sighed into the phone. This was something he was reluctant to discuss with Fritz. He was having a hard time himself, and he found it odd the Chief would go over the details of the assault with colleagues, but not with her own husband. It was sympathy that opened his mouth. He spoke quickly and emotionless, giving the details as if reciting a grocery list, but leaving them vague and watered down, it proved too difficult, "You know Fritz, I'm not doing a very good job of this. I think I can get a copy of her statement. Maybe its best if you read the report." At least divulging information in this manner would get him off the hook, and he hated hearing the pain in Fritz' voice. "Give me your email address and I'll get it to you as soon as possible."

"Thanks Sergeant, I really appreciate it, has there been any progress in finding the van?"

"We were able to get a plate number from the security cameras. We tracked down the owner, a seventy five year old retired postal worker from South Central. He said he hasn't driven his van in several months since he's been undergoing chemotherapy for colon cancer. Says his daughter's been taking him everywhere, which is mostly back and forth to the hospital. His van is a similar make and model, and we think the doer ripped his plates off. At least the plates on his van are missing, and he hasn't a clue how long they've been gone. We still have the APB out for the van. Hopefully we'll find it soon. That's all I really have so far."

Fritz headed to the Federal Building to get the flash drive that Jerry left on his desk. The tenth floor was deserted since everyone had the weekend off to celebrate the Fourth of July, which fortunately fell on a Monday providing a well anticipated three day weekend. Fritz opened up his computer, and was impressed Gabriel had sent Brenda's statement via e-mail so quickly, but decided to review the forensics beforehand. He married the flash drive to the computer and opened up the report. He could feel his body tremble with every line he read, the rape, the beatings, the bite marks, the stun gun burns, the damage done to all her private areas, the knife cut to her neck. It just went on and on. The rage was burning in the pit of his belly, but he didn't stop. He opened up the mail, and read Brenda's statement which only fueled his fury. Shaking uncontrollably, he hesitantly clicked onto the file containing the forensic photographs. He wasn't sure he could do this; did he want to do this? He brought up the first picture and it was all he needed to lose his mind, with just one photograph. It was a picture of Brenda's broken battered face. He looked at the tears in her eyes, and the devastation written into them. The stark pain of her ordeal speaking out voluminously, so heart wrenching he virtually collapsed behind his desk in his own pain for her. He pushed his hands to his head grabbing tufts of his hair in his fists, groaning as if he'd been crushed by a locomotive, and his anger mounted into a spewing mountain of volcanic fury. He pounded both fists as hard as he could on to his desk, and then smashed his lap top closed. With explosive anger surging through his body he picked up the paper weight on his desk and hurled it with such ferocity creating a gaping hole in the wall. He cleared his desk instantaneous with a thrust of his infuriated hand. He tried to control himself, but the need to destroy, beat, hammer and pound devoured him.

Luckily, he found his way downstairs to the gym and after changing he decided to take his frustrations out on the bag. He wasn't a boxer, but at this point it didn't matter. He was after relief, and threw a blow at every detail in that statement. After twenty five minutes of continuous pummeling with intentions of killing the bag he fell to his knees in exhaustion. He clutched the bag to steady himself then leaned his head into its side. It was the only thing holding him up. He wiped the sweat from his drenched face and saw the blood on his knuckles. Both hands were hurting, and it occurred to him that perhaps he should've used gloves. After all that he thought he would feel better, but he didn't. This burning hatred would never go away until he took care of things, and a cloud of darkness enveloped him obscuring his vision. He was going to make this right, to seek retribution for the iniquities committed against his girl. He would get his revenge.

He should've stopped by Parker Center to get the case files for Brenda, but he found himself in the parking lot of A&J Liquor. He walked in and asked for a pack of Marlboro and two Jack Daniel minis, a shot and a half in each. He bought a lighter and a tin of Altoids. He sat in the car and lit up his first cigarette in five years and inhaled deeply. He'd given up the smokes the same time as the booze. He chuckled in amazement that he didn't even cough as if his body expected he'd come back to this. He took out his cell and called Sergeant Gabriel and asked him to bring the files by the house. He needed the time to take the edge off. He poured the mini into an empty coffee cup, and with shaking hands he put the drink to his lips and felt the burn of alcohol as it made its way to the burning pit of his stomach. It felt good, and he would only allow himself just the two tiny bottles, saving the other for another occasion when he'd feel this bad.

Brenda read Fritz' note, and quickly called Sergeant Gabriel for an update. She was pleased they were making some progress, and was happy that Gabriel and Irene would bring the files by. She wondered what Fritz was doing since his note said he would pick up the files, evidently his plans had changed. She heated up the chicken noodle soup and waited for Sergeant Gabriel.

It was early evening before he made it home. He had parked his car at Griffith Park and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. He was trying to sort things out, tried to wrap his mind around what happened, but found his emotions were constantly in the way. It was burning him into someone he didn't recognize. He knew he wouldn't rest until he found the guy who committed this atrocious act, and would make sure he'd never do it again. He sat there for almost two hours thinking, and wiping the tears from his face.

She had been through several of the files Gabriel dropped off, sifting through the mountains of documents only interested in the pictures and mug shots. She hoped the monster would be there in one of those boxes. When Fritz finally came through the door he gave her a quick hello as he hurried toward the kitchen. She could sense a change in him, but couldn't quite identify what was different. He was definitely quieter, and normally he would come to her and kiss her, but this time he went to the table and opened his lap top. She went to him instead putting her arms around him, "Where have you been, you smell like smoke," she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek. His appearance had an ominous quality, the stubble on his unshaven face was more than a five o'clock shadow, his hair was oily and tussled, and his dark brooding eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. She had never seen him like this, and could tell he was very upset.

He took the tin of Altoids from his briefcase and popped one in his mouth, "I was working on something with Jerry. He needed my help on an important case. You know he smokes like a chimney." He didn't miss a beat telling the lie. In fact it fell so easily from his tongue, so believable that he knew he could tell more of them. "Is it bothering you, should I take a shower?"

"No, you don't need to do that. I was thinking about going in." Her body ached and she wished they had a bath tub, nothing sounded better than to soak in a hot tub. The shower would have to do, and she'd have to fight the urge to scrub her skin raw trying to remove non-existent dirt.

The broken lid to his lap top had a loose hinge, and he was thankful the screen was intact. He contemplated as to whether he should open up the pictures that were on the damn flash drive. He wasn't sure if he'd go to pieces again. He shouldn't be doing this, learning about her injuries this way. His anger was percolating again, the alcohol wearing off returning him to an acerbic humor. She needed to be open and forthcoming, confiding in her loving husband, but she'd rather open up to her damn squad, telling them everything leaving him out. Indignation was churning hot, and he decided he was through with space giving. His patience had vanished with the appearance of the first and only picture he viewed on the computer screen. This needed to come directly from her, and he'd settle for no less. In an angry huff, he got up from the table. He'd force her to show him.

He rudely opened the curtain startling her. She quickly turned her back and faced the tile wall. "Fritz, what are you doing? Close the curtain!"

He could see the long bruises marking her back made with the stick she'd been beaten with. "No! I won't close the damn curtain because you need to tell me Brenda, I want to know what the hell this bastard has done to you and you're shutting me out!" He was livid and felt the heat grow hot in his face. He was trying to keep it together, but knew he was on the fringe of losing it.

Her arms were crossed tightly over her breasts, "No, I don't want to talk about it right now!" She shook her wet head violently, and felt her body start to tremble. God this couldn't be happening again. She didn't want to go here with him, it hurt too much.

"What do you mean no? I'm your husband for god's sake. You can tell your squad in minute detail, but not me?!" His voice rose with every word. "Why," he shouted, stepping slightly into the shower, his arm and t-shirt getting hit with the spray as he took her arm gruffly to spin her around so he could see her body.

She couldn't believe he was acting this way, manhandling her after the horrific experience she'd been through. Her own anger flared, "Get your hands off of me," she shouted slamming her fists into his chest. He was like granite, immovable, and the only change was the hurt expression on his face. She kept hitting him and he grabbed her hands tightly.

"Answer me…Why," he demanded, he wasn't giving in.

She was crying in near hysterics, the tears flooding her face uncontrollably, "Because it's different with you," she yelled, "with you I'm me!" He was her love, the man she'd given her heart to and it was personal. She couldn't look into those sensual dark eyes and reveal the enormous pain she so desperately wanted to hide. Telling him in detail what the beast had done to her would be reliving the agony, and she tried her best to put up the walls like a master builder. "With them it's just a case!" She was at an impasse seeing that he wouldn't budge, and decided to give him what he wanted, but in her anger she'd launch it like an A-bomb. She stepped back from him, "Have a nice long look Fritz and see what the son of a bitch did to me. Do you want the fine details? Is that what you want, huh?"

He looked at her and felt a sick twisting in his gut, and he swallowed hard trying to keep the bile from coming to his throat. He could feel tears come to his eyes, and the anger dissipating into sadness.

She went on, "Is it the physical pain you want me to describe, to be beaten and punched, brutally raped and sodomized, to be bitten all over your body with your nipple almost taken off. Look at it," she screamed. She saw his eyes drift to her breast, and the muscle in his jaw began to work. "Or is it the mental pain you want me to tell you about, the terror in knowing you're going to die, and it will be your co-workers that will be viewing your corpse. Or maybe thinking you'll never be in your husband's arms again, but wanting him more in that moment, more than you've ever wanted or needed anyone in your entire life!" He looked away from her and she saw his tears collect like raindrops on his eyelashes, trying to bat them away. She felt her heart breaking, "maybe you want to know how I felt not knowing if I'd ever hold our child, or if we'd even have one!" She grabbed his face, "You look at me Fritz Howard, don't you dare turn your head. You wanted to know these things." His tears had flooded his face, and searching his eyes she saw her own pain reflecting back. "Look at me and see the damage that's been done, Fritz, because I can assure you its far worse on the inside!" Their overwhelming pain was crushing her and she felt weak kneed. She let go of his face and leaned against the wall. She knew this would happen. Stars were coming to her eyes, and she thought it would be a blessing to lose consciousness, to not have to think about this anymore. She slid down and sat against the shower wall the warm water sprinkling over her.

He thought he could stand up to it, the grief that penetrated his body. He was tortured by it and leaned his head against the tiles. He tried to stifle the anguish coming from his throat, huge sobs that seemed to consume him. It proved useless to restrain them, and then he felt her hand in his, tugging him down to where she sat. He practically fell to his knees taking her into his arms, holding her close. He couldn't speak, but showed his love for her in his sweet caresses and kisses to her head. The warm water fell gently over them like a cleansing spring rain, and he only wished it could wash away their monumental suffering on the inside.

She whispered close to his ear, "Fritzy, what hurts more than anything is to know that I should have been home with you, instead of hiding out at work. I should have been happy about our baby. Maybe this wouldn't have happened."

He finally spoke, "No, Brenda, don't think that way. This guy was after you, and he'd track you down no matter what, maybe another time it doesn't turn out so good, and I wouldn't have you in my arms anymore." His voice cracked, "I love you more than anything, and I promise you, I'm going to hunt the son of bitch down and blow his fucking head off."


	6. Chapter 6

Revenge Part 6

Revenge Part 6

With every passing minute the pain became worse. She felt like she'd been hit by a Mack truck as she labored through boxes of material. She knew those eyes, and it's what kept her focused on the task at hand trying to ignore the throbbing ache throughout her body. She couldn't sit for more than a few minutes at a time and took the files to bed with her. She was coming to the realization that maybe going through these records was all she could manage, her body screamed out for recovery. She was not at all happy about it since she wanted to go to her office where she could work more diligently. The last thing she wanted was this case to go cold and she held out hope that the van would be found. Beside the physical pain that took her mind off her work, she was now worried about Fritz. He seemed so different, as if a brooding force had taken him over. He was constantly on his cell or tapping away at his computer reluctant to tell her what he was working on, it was always an important case with Jerry. Dark circles had formed under his eyes and she doubted he had a wink of sleep in forty hours. His edict to her as he held her in the shower sent chills up her spine. It was more than blowing off steam. They were real and true, words that gave her caution. She was pestered by them, a persistent uneasiness plaguing her thoughts like a thorn in her side.

She had talked to Detective Rourke and the DNA analysis was almost complete, even with priority status it took time, and with any luck at all the beast would be in the national database. It seemed there was little progress, which was annoying and she longed to be among the action in her murder room.

It was two a.m. and she was asleep with a file folder stretched over her chest. He removed her black framed glasses from her face and put the file in the box next to her. He turned out the bedside lamp and the only light in the room came through the kitchen where he'd been almost the entire evening. He emailed or called just about everyone he knew in the Bureau, and all were willing to do whatever they could to help. They needed a break in this case, or it wouldn't go anywhere, and time was ticking away making him anxious and stressed. He wouldn't be able to sleep because thoughts pouring through his mind like a 747 jet wouldn't allow it. He needed a cigarette and went out to his car to get the pack he purchase earlier on his way home from Griffith Park. He was taking a chance smoking near her, but she was sound asleep. He took the half empty water bottle from his car and then made his way to the rear of the house sitting in one of the wrought iron chairs facing the back of the property. He lit up and inhaled deeply stuffing the cigarette pack and lighter into the pocket of his sweat pants.

He was struggling. There was no doubt in his mind what he'd do if he found this man. It was the right thing he told himself, to rid the world from evil. This man was Satan and Satan should be fought with every ounce of your being. It was God who helped him back from the lowest depths of his alcoholism, a time when he had little hope. He gave himself over to Jesus Christ who restored him, his hope, his soul, his life, eventually leading him to Brenda, which in turn was his hope, his soul and his life. This hatred he harbored against the man that almost took it all away, damaging his very existence had to be dealt with. Didn't Jesus himself, in anger, turn over the tables of the moneychangers clearing them from the Temple getting rid of those who were polluting the house of God? Brenda was his temple, his home and there would be repercussions against those who violated and polluted her, as far as he was concerned it would be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. He took another drag on his cigarette then ran his hand through his hair nervously. He knew it was about forgiveness, Jesus' death and resurrection a statement of His love, but he needed that eye and tooth first…and forgiveness? Well, he'd deal with that later. No, there was only one course of action for him and it was exactly what he told her earlier.

It was her phone that brought her out of a deep sleep. She checked the clock, just after two, and quickly answered her cell. "Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson," she said, groggily trying to come out of the fog. She looked to her side for Fritz, but only found the heap of papers and the box sitting next to her.

"Chief Johnson, its Detective Rourke, we think we found the van at LAX." Brenda could hear excitement in her voice. "We had patrol keeping their eyes open; an officer from Hollywood division noticed it in long term parking. What got his attention was the back window; it looked as if decals had been scraped away, the inside is missing the seats, completely stripped. The plate numbers are different though, so we think our perp may have changed them out again. Sergeant Gabriel is going over now to interview….a Mr. Jack Thomas, who registered the plates. It looks like he's retired, 75 years old according to the BMV. We should know soon whether it's his van or not" she said, flipping through the pages of her notebook.

"Have you been inside it yet?" Brenda asked.

"No, but we're almost positive it's the one. We're waiting for a decision from the prosecutor's office on how to proceed. They're reviewing probable cause right now. We don't want any procedural errors concerning warrants that'll come back to haunt us."

"You're right about that, it's best to go by the book, never know what kind of evidence will be in the van. We surely wouldn't want anything thrown out of court."

"One other thing Chief, shining a flashlight into the front window we can see a pair of women's panties next to the driver's seat. Chief, I was looking through your written statement and I don't think you told us what color you were wearing…"

"They were black," Brenda cut in. "I was wearing a black skirt too."

"I see the color of the skirt in the statement, but not the panties. I think this may help us Chief because the panties by the seat are also black."

"Detective Rourke, do you have any idea how long it will take before the van will be taken to the garage so SID can go over it."

"I'm thinking a couple of hours minimum. I want to have all our ducks in order here."

This was an important piece of evidence, and Brenda wanted to be there when they tore the van apart, but she was feeling so terrible it would be impossible. She decided to delegate, a new habit that was forming, which she hated. "Detective Rourke, I'd like to have you there on site when SID goes over the van. Could you please get back to me on what they find?"

"I will Chief."

"Are you pulling the surveillance tapes from the airport?"

"Yes, that's being done as we speak. Commander Taylor has put a whole team on it. There'll be a lot to tapes to get through, and he wants it like yesterday."

She was glad Commander Taylor was on the case and never thought she'd feel that way. With his contentions put aside she knew that he would give his best for a brother in blue and that was comforting.

Brenda closed the phone thinking it odd Fritz didn't come in to hear the conversation. The kitchen light was on and she called out to him, and then thought he may be sleeping on the couch. He wasn't there, and she felt a bit panicked. She looked out the front window and his car was in the drive. She poked her head out the front door looking to see if he was on the porch, he wasn't, so that left the back patio. She looked through glass of the sliding door and was just about to unlock it and go out when she noticed the cigarette in his hand. She stood frozen like a block of ice, in shock. She didn't even know he smoked, ever. It occurred to her that he lied earlier, right out of his mouth without batting an eye, and it made her angry. She was ready to yank open the door to chew him out when she noticed the considerable shake of his hand. She stopped abruptly rethinking her actions. This ordeal had been hard on him as well, recognizing it in his weary face and by his words, and a terrifying thought came to her mind that she was losing him. Whatever this was had a firm grip on him driving him to smoke, and was drinking next? She put both arms around herself hugging tight trying to overcome the chill that entered her body. His shaking hand seemed to fall in unison with the tremble deep within her, and the thorn in her side was feeling more like the blade of a dagger. She'd have to reach him somehow before it was too late and he made a wrong decision. His talk earlier scared her, not so much for what he wanted to do, but the possibility he could be injured or killed in the process. She didn't want to bury her husband when their child was growing within her. Tears were running down her face always so close to the surface that she didn't even try to hold them back anymore.

She saw him put out the cigarette in the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him, it was her cue and she unlocked the door and slid it open. She could tell it startled him since he hurriedly placed the bottle with the evidence underneath his chair out of sight. She put her hand on his shoulder, "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"Just thinking," he said, offering nothing more. He was hesitant to let her get close because he knew she'd smell the smoke on his body and breath. He pushed his hand through his hair feeling exhausted; all of it was wearing him out.

She noticed the injury to his knuckles, which only heightened her concern, "I'm afraid," she said. It came out more pitifully then she expected, but it immediately grabbed his attention.

He looked up seeing she was crying and took her hand and brought her to his lap, not caring about the smoke anymore, "Why," he asked, wanting to alleviate her fears.

She put her arms around his neck as he cradled her close to his chest. She could smell the smoke, but acted oblivious. She pressed her cheek next to his and spoke into his ear, "I'm afraid for you. I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," he said astonished, wondering why she would make such a statement.

She stared into his dark eyes, "I'm afraid you're going to do something foolish and you'll be hurt or killed. I couldn't stand up to it Fritz. I can't lose you. I can't raise a baby by myself. So don't do anything to get yourself killed, because I'll die along with you."

"Brenda, sweetheart, I'm not going to do anything to get myself killed alright. You shouldn't be worried about that, and whatever I do won't be foolish, believe me," he said gently wiping the tears from her face. "I promise, we're going to get through this." He kissed her lips.

For some reason she didn't feel any better. She held him close for a long while, as he stroked the back of her head.

_EARLIER_

Lt. Flynn was glad to get the call from Sergeant Gabriel, and it was good to know the Chief still wanted him even though he made a horse's ass of himself. No way should the Chief work her own case, and he wouldn't budge on the way he felt. He just went about it the wrong way letting his emotional anger get the better of him. He only cared about her... too much. A lot of work needed to be done, and he wanted to be a part of it.

Lt. Provenza was sitting at his desk drinking coffee, and being the middle of the night he looked tired.

"It's about time you got your ass in here to help Flynn. I've been waiting for you," Provenza said gruffly, "Next time you get that ass of yours in a wringer don't expect me to help you out with it."

"What? Did you talk to the Chief on my behalf? The last thing I was told was to get my ass out, then Gabriel calls and says the Chief wants my ass in. I assumed she finally came to her senses wanting the best guy to work the case. I'm indispensable you know."

"Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, I'm hearin' ya Flynn. You just keep believin' what you're sayin'," Provenza chuckled. "Commander Taylor just called in some of the electronic guys to go over the surveillance tapes, and I think Buzz is already here. I don't know about you, but the asshole committing this crime on our turf, well it just frosts my balls," Provenza said with disdain.

"I know, I know, it's like a fucking slap to the face, an insult."

"I want to know how the hell this happened. How did he get into the damn garage in the first place? It's the most secure place at Parker."

"He had to have a keycard. The tapes will match the clock in's. We just need to pair em' up." Flynn said. "Maybe we'll get a good look at the son of a bitch when he swipes the card at the gate."

They were assembled in the electronics room as Buzz operated the equipment, and they worked over an hour looking at the tapes and the gate clock ins. They started with the garage level the van was parked. Then went back in time to see when it had arrived next to the Chief's car, then traced it to several other cameras until they had the view of the van at the gate. The perp appeared in all black reaching out with the key card. His face was guarded by the dip of his head and the gigantic cowboy hat that seemed to encompass the entire screen. He swiped the card with his gloved hand. The only portion of his face that could be seen was the lower portion of his left jaw. He was definitely Caucasian. They all wanted a good image of the guy and everyone in the room felt the let down. They spent considerable time dissecting the tape for a decent picture, but none could be found. The view of the actual attack on Brenda was less than eight seconds and since the tape was set at three second intervals there were only two shots of the man, and his head was covered with a black ski mask. Flynn was beside himself, "We have nothing here. Shit!"

The keycard was traced to one of the housekeepers at Parker. He said he stopped by McGregor's Pub, just a block from Parker Center, for a few beers. He didn't know his badge was missing since he clocked out with it at the end of his shift that afternoon. It seemed like a lot of dead ends, and until they found the van the case was stalling.

Detective Rourke reported back to Brenda giving in detail the information and evidence they obtained from the vehicle. The 2002 Ford Conversion was traced to a Russell Masterson from Las Vegas, Nevada through the Vehicle Identification Number. He reported the van stolen from his residence the Monday before the attack on Chief Johnson. Russ Masterson was a successful forty-five year old Certified Public Accountant with a wife and two small children. He was well known within the community as an honest, well thought of business man. He bought the fully loaded van six months prior to use for family vacations, according to the interview from Las Vegas police. Russ Masterson only had minor traffic violations on his police record, and willingly gave his prints in order to rule out those that might be found in the van.

SID inspectors found a black pair of women's underwear size five with evidence of biological material which would be sent for DNA analysis. There were no latent prints found in the van, only a few non usable smudges. It was evident the entire van had been wiped clean, including the outside. The carpet was analyzed for blood and semen stains and bagged as evidence for further studies. The carpet was also vacuumed for trace evidence. SID had gone over the van with a fine tooth comb.

The perpetrator was so careful to clean up the van, yet careless when it came to leaving his DNA behind. He had thought out his crime, planning the time of attack, clever in stealing an LAPD badge to gain entrance to the garage and two sets of tags, and hiding his identity from the cameras, but why leave behind the DNA, unless he wasn't in the database. This worried Brenda because she thought the DNA would be their ace in the hole.

During the long conversation with Detective Rourke Brenda was taking notes, and from the corner of her eye she could see Fritz eavesdropping, and then he was suddenly gone. After she hung up the phone she heard him pecking away on his laptop again.

"What are you working on?" she asked him point blank.

"Just that case with Jerry?" he said without taking his eyes from the computer screen.

She made her way around to him and she could tell he clicked out of whatever program he was in, and the simple action stuck in her crawl. She knew he was lying again.

It was early and after he showered and shaved he made waffles for Brenda. He was glad to see that she ate not only hers, but his too. He didn't mind since he wasn't hungry. All he could think of was leaving the house to smoke, and he made up a poor excuse which she read through, and he could tell she was not happy with him as he walked out the front door. He wanted to make a few phone calls and didn't want her listening, so he found himself at Griffith Park again. He took out his cigarettes and lit up, and hearing his cell ring he quickly picked up to the Bureau number appearing in the call window.

"Agent Howard," he said through the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He took a puff then blew out the smoke.

"Sexy Fritzy," she said earnestly.

"Pippi! I haven't heard from you in a long time," Fritz said genuinely happy to hear the voice of his old friend, or young friend however you happen to look at it. Hopefully the call from Avery O'Connor was a good thing since she was the Einstein of the Bureau.

"Jerry called me Fritz. I'm so sorry to hear about Brenda. It's damn awful and I wanted to do everything I could to help. So I've been working my ass off for you, you'll be happy about that won't you," she chuckled. She could hear him snicker on the other end. "Jerry gave me everything his buddy in SID's been sending, you know the one he's blackmailing. A free flowing treasure trove let me tell ya!"

"Jerry's blackmailing the guy," Fritz asked concerned, as if he didn't know.

"Oh please, Sexy Fritzy, you're an investigator. Your partner has more beef on people then J. Edgar Hoover himself." She heard a laugh come through the phone again, "Oh so you did know."

"Now, Now Pippi, can't say anything I'm not entirely sure of. You know Jerry though, I'm sure it's some major dirt and the guy can't afford to have it out of the bag."

"Isn't it against the law to blackmail," she asked in mocked concern, "and taking place directly under the nose of the FBI… or by the nose of the FBI," she corrected.

"You wouldn't be trying to put your old buddy in one of those tight spots now are you," Fritz asked amusedly.

"Now would I ever be known to do that Sexy Fritzy," she said sheepishly.

Agent Avery O'Connor was a computer genius. She worked in Cybercrimes, mainly investigating internet fraud cases, and the last six years she had the highest success rate solving on-line service crimes. She knew her way in and around cyberspace and could out-wit the best criminals. She had degrees from MIT in both Computer Science and Mathematics having graduated at the young age of twenty. She had a brilliant mind, and even with her beyond Mensa intelligence quotient she had the common sense to go with it, a rarity in most cases. She was a high spirited, high energy girl who got a kick out of life, and her infectious laugh and fun nature attracted many people to her side. She had the reputation for being a party girl capable of drinking any man under the table, but she also took her work very seriously. Fritz remembered the first time they met five years earlier when his illegal drug investigation led him to her office his case crossing over with one of hers…

"I'm here to see Agent O'Connor," Fritz told the secretary manning the 8th floor desk. He noticed the tall red head standing close by. With his office three floors below a distance equivalent to Siberia, he never had the pleasure to meet Agent O'Connor, but had heard plenty of office talk. In fact the rumor mill was so active about this one person and all her antics that he didn't believe the half of it. He put little stock in gossip anyway and felt it was much like the children's game of telephone, what starts out as truth is twisted, embellished and exaggerated, and by the end it's all a pack of lies.

The tall red head pushed out her hand, "Hi, I'm Agent O'Connor, nice to meet you Agent Howard," she said professionally.

He was struck by her emerald green eyes that seemed to dance as she spoke. She had dark red auburn hair that was cut short and choppy in one of those punk styles like a groupie in a rock band. A small Celtic Knot pin was clipped in her hair, and he wondered if the Irish red-head had a fiery temperament too. Her skin was porcelain and he could see she worked hard using makeup to cover the freckles dotting her cheeks. She was very attractive, but didn't look a day over sixteen. He smiled with the thought, she reminded him of Pippi Longstocking the fictional character in the series of children's books he read as a kid. Pippi was the strongest girl in the world, and frequently made fools out of adults. It made for some fun reading. They were old stories and he doubted if this Pippi new anything of them. Looking back it was perhaps the wrong thing to say, but it fell from his lips so quickly, "I didn't know the Bureau hired underage kids."

Her broad smile showing a perfect set of white teeth was wiped away immediately with a scowl, and her dancing emerald eyes turned to stone. She was staring him down and Fritz was unsure what to say, clearly aware of his mistake.

"Sally, I think I'll show Agent Howard to my office," she said, with a smirk.

"Agent O'Connor, you know very well the conference room is open. We just discussed it," Sally said, giving her a warning glare.

"My office will be more comfortable for Agent Howard," she said, throwing a knowing look to her secretary.

Fritz could see that something exchanged between the two women, but was hesitant to ask. Agent O'Connor turned abruptly, "My office is this way." She seemed to sprint down the hallway and Fritz had a tough time keeping up with her. In walking behind, how could he not take the opportunity to admire her long beautiful legs or appreciate the sway of her hips? She was expressly giving him quite the show with her three inches shorter than Bureau code skirt that fit snuggly against her ass. He didn't mind her breaking dress code, not at all.

He noted the spaciousness of her office, which was almost twice the size of his own and he wondered whose bread she was buttering. Office space was a status symbol of authority and influence and just like everything you worked your way up the food chain. How did this baby with a year under her belt get the big office? He would admit he felt a pang of jealousy, and though it was small he made a huge effort not to let it show. Her desk was custom made of the finest oak, and so gargantuan it took up most of the room. It looked as if it was ratcheted up in height, but he wasn't certain since he couldn't see the legs. The wall behind her desk held all her credentials, certificates and honors placed in heavy expensive ornate frames that screamed, "Look at me!" Her degrees from MIT were placed in the middle with the others fanning out into a beautiful collage of homage. For a moment Fritz considered himself in a museum as if viewing magnificent works of art, Summa Cum Laude, honors in Statistical Analysis, Computer Modeling, Pattern Recognition, Queuing Theory and without question he knew this Barbie would never tell her Ken that math was hard.

She offered him the lone visitor chair in the room, a pitiful thing that was placed in front of the monstrous desk. It looked to be of normal height, but the width was the size of a child's desk chair fancily dressed with red fluffy cushions. Fritz doubted if his ass would properly fit. He took the chair sinking like a lead balloon. He looked awkward trying to get his balance, and with the soft cushion giving way he was falling straight to the floor. He thought he heard her snicker, but by the time he looked up she was giving him the same cold stare. With his ass lower than his knees he was ready to catch pitches for the LA Dodgers. He could have been offended by this. He knew what she was up to. He had been around for too many years not to know. She was flexing her muscle making him feel puny and unimportant to her powerful position, as if she was the interrogator and he the criminal. She was emasculating him, painting herself the real ball buster and he was searching the Galleria of Honor for her framed "Ten Commandments to Bureau Survival" the first being, "Thou shalt not take any shit from men." This was her little game and he could be a good sport, moreover he was intrigued by this woman-girl, he wanted to understand what possessed her to place the twelve inch erect sex toy on the edge of her desk just begging to be noticed. It was directly in his line of sight and he tried to move his chair a fraction to the right, but it seemed to be attached firmly to the floor.

He knew she was after a reaction, trying to make him uncomfortable, wanting him to ask about the freakish phallus standing before him, but he kept his mouth closed acting as if he didn't notice, neither shocked nor offended. He went on with business as usual taking out the file he brought with him, and for the next twenty minutes they discussed their cases professionally. She was smart and knew her stuff and he'd even admit he liked her. She loosened up smiling occasionally and her emerald eyes took on their natural twinkle, far better to admire than stone.

He was curious and before using a shoe horn to remove himself from the chair he asked her, "Agent O'Connor," he nodded toward the sex toy, "is this part of the room décor, or is it something you use at lunch time."

She smiled brightly, pleased he asked, "Agent Howard, I work with many male chauvinist pigs, and they think they can come into my office and bark orders like I'm their maid. So I put this on my desk." She made her way to the front of the desk and sat next to her friend crossing her legs at Fritz' eye level, "You see, Agent Howard, I have my own and it's a really big one."

Fritz was humored by this, "All right then, a girl with a penis."

"Yes," Agent O'Connor said giving him a challenging glare, "I have balls to match, but didn't get them out. I wouldn't want to over do it."

Fritz chuckled and he could see she was trying to stifle a smile pushing through her stern look.

She went on, "I have a name for him too. Just like you have a name for yours," she said raising her eyebrows.

He felt the warm glow of embarrassment come to his face, and he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. She read him instantly satisfied with the reaction she was after all along.

"I call him Richard, Dick for short," she said amusingly. "What do you think, do you like it," she pressed the toe of her high heeled shoe into his leg.

"It's appropriate," Fritz replied wishing the crimson color would leave his face. He wondered if he'd have a job if he placed a vagina on the edge of his desk and asked female agents to his office. He admired her savvy though. It was hard for a woman to make it in the Bureau, but this girl wouldn't have a problem.

"Oh, just one last question, is my Dick bigger than yours?"

Fritz looked at her toy and then back at her, "Honey, your Dick is a monster," and they both burst into laughter. Walking out of her office Fritz decided everything he heard about Agent O'Connor was indeed true.

They had become fast friends, and if she had been ten years older he might have made a move to date her, but she was young and wild, and he just didn't have the energy.

They stopped for drinks regularly every Friday at the local FBI watering hole. They were the last two, drinking and talking until closing long after their colleagues left for the evening. They had helped each other through tough times. She was younger, sometimes foolish, and free spirited, and he was older, wiser, and stable. He needed her laughs and fun loving nature during a low and unhappy time in his life. He'd just been through his ugly divorce, and was drinking way too much. Avery O'Connor made him forget the wife that could stoop so low to have their child aborted without his knowledge or consent. Where were his rights he wanted to know? It eventually destroyed their marriage. Avery O'Connor tended to act impulsively when it came to major life decisions, and Fritz helped her with that. They were opposites of the same coin. Never before in his life would he think he'd have a girl friend that wasn't his girlfriend, and he appreciated her immensely.

When they were together on Friday nights he would drown his sorrows, and the last time they were together, his second DUI coming a few days later, she literally drank him under the table. He woke up to the low hum of a ceiling fan and as he watched the blades turn he realized it wasn't his room. The bed was stripped of blankets and he was completely naked. His head throbbed and he knew if he lifted it from the pillow he'd puke his guts out. This was the worse he'd ever felt in his life, maybe he was dying. He could only lie in agony, for the way he felt and for what he might have done with Avery O'Connor. He couldn't remember a thing, a total blackout.

She climbed on the bed next to him, in her sweat pants and t-shirt, and smiled. He couldn't believe she looked so damn good after all they drank, "How do you do it," he asked. "You had as much as I did and you look like you're ready to run the Boston Marathon." He would swear she had and extra enzyme in her body that converted alcohol to some other organic compound rendering it useless for inebriation. A frightened look came to his face, "I don't remember anything."

She saw his anxious expression and put her hand on his chest, "Nothing to worry about Sexy Fritzy, you weren't capable of performing," she said with a smile.

"Oh that's good then," he said closing his eyes tight putting his hand to his forehead, thinking maybe it wasn't so good.

She laughed, "You're too cute. You were gone when I got you up here, passed out cold. Nothing happened, not even a kiss.

"Can you tell me where my clothes are then?"

"Well, you puked all over them so I took them off like any good friend would do, and they're in the wash as we speak," she said, her emerald eyes glowing.

"Including my shorts," he asked with a sigh.

She leaned down and kissed his chest then rested her head against him, "Nah, I just took them off for the view. Couldn't resist Fritzy, you're so beautiful inside and out." She kissed him lightly on the lips, her eyes sparkling in adoration.

"Avery, you're my friend and I want to keep it that way…And….," he hesitated, feeling disgusted with himself, "And… I need to straighten a few things out," he whispered, his head was pounding and he knew if he didn't take something he'd vomit all over her bed. His drinking was getting worse and this scene, not remembering, scared the hell out of him.

"I know. I'm alright with that," she flashed him one of her great big smiles then kissed him sweetly, "I just hope I don't kick myself one day for not fighting for you."

He was mesmerized gazing into those vast pools of green thinking she never looked lovelier with just her freckles. He gently brushed his thumb over her porcelain cheek wishing she appeared older than sixteen, "How'd you get me up here anyway?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, "Didn't I tell you… in my other life I was a sherpa?"

He chuckled, no, he thought; she was his Pippi, the strongest girl in the world.…

"Anyway," Agent O'Connor went on, "I may have something here. I'm sure the detectives at Parker will eventually come across it, but you know me, dig forever, and work the puzzle, and I'll kindly hand the information to you so you can get a jump start."

"I'll take it," Fritz said excitedly and took out his small notebook and pen from the console. He knew he could trust the information Avery gave him.

"The VIN number comes back to Russ Masterson from Las Vegas, and on the outside he looks like a legitimate business man, all squeaky clean, but when you dig deep like I have I'm finding out some things that have scam written all over them. Even though this guy doesn't fit the profile I think he's involved in vehicle insurance fraud. Over the last three years he's purchased several vehicles, I've tracked ten so far, either in his name, his wife's, but mostly through his incorporated CPA business. All are conversion vans or SUV's all loaded. The interesting thing the seller is always a used car dealer, Murray Motors. Guess who has a brother-in-law named Sam Murray?"

"Russ Masterson?"

"You got it Fritz! He's been slick about it, taking out the insurance from many different carriers in the region. The van the perp used in the crime was completely stripped, and that could have been done by the perp, or maybe the vehicle was never loaded to begin with. Sam Murray fakes documents making the value of the vehicle higher than it actually is, the car is stolen and Masterson collects a lot of cash that he and his brother-in-law can use at the casinos. It stinks to high heaven, it doesn't add up Fritz. You might want to have a talk with Masterson. Maybe he knows the perp, had him steal the van. I've written a lot of my own programs Fritz, cross referencing financial transactions, and this is a major red flag for me."

"I think I'm going to take the first flight to Vegas and have a little talk with Mr. Masterson," Fritz said with a determined edge to his voice.


	7. Chapter 7

Revenge Part 7

Revenge Part 7

He takes the palm of her hand and kisses it, then gazes deeply into her brown eyes, never wanting her more intensely then in that moment and his breath catches with the realization. He is spellbound by her beauty, he takes it in embracing it for it more than turns him on… it moves him. His love and desire pour out endlessly as he burns kisses up her arm to her mouth and he gently brushes his lips across hers. He captures the soft silk of her hair through his fingers, and she opens her mouth hotly and the sensation of her velvety tongue tangling with his awakens vigor in his loins and he pushes his length against her for a bit of relief. She draws up his t-shirt, scraping her nails along the waist band of his boxers, and with mounting need he removes his own shirt with one fell swoop of his hand. Her lips press into his chest, the wetness of her tongue sliding over him, her teeth grazing and nipping at his flesh sends his body pulsating out of control. His heart pounds fiercely and his erection so enormous his body aches for her body and he can only think of sheathing himself deeply within her. He unclasps her bra and drops it to the floor and brings her into him so he can feel the weight of her breasts against his bare skin. He devours her mouth urgently, erotically, moving her to the bed. He eases himself over and heatedly trails kisses from her mouth down to her neck and over the mound of her breast. He sensually takes her into his mouth, swirling his tongue and gently suckling her raised peak giving her pleasure, and the smell, the taste, and the heat of her nearly drive him over the edge. Her hands tug his hair pulling him up, and his lips find hers again, blazing over them groans of pure elation escape his throat. God, he loves her. His breath is quick and hot, and he rasps between kisses to her lips, "Brenda Leigh. I need you. I want you." Seeing the desire in her eyes only heightens his hunger for connection, and before he can satisfy his need of surrounding himself in her folds, he's in the back of a darkened van looking at a man in a black ski mask lurking over her. He blinks repeatedly, confused, how can this happen? Reeling with the sudden loss of her he gasps with the sight trying to comprehend what he perceives. She is naked and bound crying out with blood curdling screams, "Fritz, help me!" He moves to go to her, but he's immobilized, held back by an unseen force with invisible bindings. He uses all his strength to free himself, but it proves impossible. He can only watch as the man beats and rapes his wife, the brutalization going on and on, and he screams his own screams, the terror seizing his soul.

Fritz jerked awake forcefully out of a deep sleep, trembling from the dream that covered him like a thick fog shadowing what was real and what was imaginary. His dress shirt was soaked through, and as he wiped his face he felt wetness on his cheeks. He had been crying. The images of Brenda being harmed cut him to the core. Sweating profusely he felt his stomach roll and he quickly grabbed the airsickness bag in front of him and heaved violently into it. He was left weak and shaken, and all he wanted was to hold her in his arms. He tried to compose himself waiting for the retching to subside, and finally the stewardess came giving him a cool cloth to wipe his face taking the puke bag from him.

Looking at his watch he had only been asleep for twenty minutes. He knew it would happen the minute he closed his eyes that he'd be tortured with nightmares, so he tried not to give in to sleep. He would have been better equipped had he rested his body and mind, but he was fatigued and exhausted and his dispirited mood collapsed in on him. Overwhelmed with the remnants of the dream hanging over him like a menacing dark cloud the tears spilled from his eyes as he punched Brenda's number with his trembling hand, and the desperate need to hear her voice.

He'd left her in a bad way and the enormity of his guilt piled on his shoulders like a load of timber. He wasn't sure how long he could withstand the strain. After speaking with Agent O'Connor he put on his suit telling Brenda he had to work, a big break in the case he was working with Jerry. She didn't buy it, and was upset he was leaving. He told her he'd be back later in the afternoon. He'd make the quick trip to Vegas take care of business and get back to her, although he didn't tell her where he was going. She didn't want him to leave and was begging him to stay, but he wouldn't miss the opportunity to find the man who hurt her. It was difficult seeing her tears, and so he justified himself by turning it back around saying she should give him the same patience and understanding with his work as he'd always given to her. With a quick hug and peck to the cheek he turned toward the door unwilling to listen to her protests since he had a plane to catch.

Brenda was stunned to see him walk away from her so hastily. It was true he had been patient and understanding, but she wouldn't be running to work if he had been injured, especially if he'd asked her to stay. This wasn't the Fritz she knew and it was tearing her up seeing the dramatic change in him. She followed him around the bedroom pleading her case as he readied himself. He appeared haggard, and weary, and she noticed his belt pulled two notches tighter. More troublesome was the baneful darkness present in his eyes, a difference so bewildering she wondered if she'd already lost him. Fighting for him she cried out for him to stay, but he turned his back and headed for the door. She felt like she'd been ripped open with the dagger of fear twisting in her gut, and for the umpteenth time tears flowed from her eyes.

She needed to take her mind off him, so she picked up the case file on her bed when her cell phone rang.

"Brenda," Pope said eagerly into the phone, "How are you feeling?"

She wanted to say terrible, physically and mentally that she wished this case was cleared. She wanted to say how frightened she was for her husband who seemed to be on the edge of something dark and foreboding, but didn't. "As good as can be expected," she said, depleted.

"We may have something here on the airport surveillance tapes Brenda. We tracked the perp to a restroom near the US Air terminal. His face was guarded by the brim of the cowboy hat up until that point, but we were able to put together perfect close-up images of the men coming out. We think he's used a disguise to alter his facial appearance. No one here recognizes him. You think you're up to coming in to see what Buzz put together. It's a series of pictures of all the men leaving the restroom. I know you said you remembered his eyes, maybe you'll recall something."

"Yeah, I could come in to take a look," she said, invigorated.

"You shouldn't be driving. Can Fritz bring you in?"

She sucked in breath at the mention of Fritz' name not wanting to become over emotional with Pope, "I…well…he…" she was stammering and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold it back, "you need to come and get me Will…Fritz…he went into work today," she heard her voice crack, but was unwilling to dissolve into tears taking on the strength of anger. "There's something up with him Will. I'm not sure what it is. Just come and get me," she said with finality, the case renewing her toughness.

As a courtesy he was bumped to first class and appreciated the extra comfort. The plane had been under booked and there were a number of unoccupied seats including the one next to him. He was sitting by the window watching the clouds as he listened for Brenda to pick up her phone. He wiped his face trying to collect himself, but he was rapidly descending into a vast pit of despair that he could not free himself from. She finally answered.

"Brenda, it's me." He could here the tightness in his voice despite making the effort to sound normal as not to alarm her. He was doing a poor job with just the three words. He sniffed into the phone and quickly wiped his nose with a tissue.

"Fritz, what is it honey?" She set her purse on her desk and sat in her chair. She felt weak, not only from the trip into the office, but hearing the despondency in his voice.

"I'm sorry for the way I left. This is something I need to do…for you, for us." he said shakily.

"Fritz, tell me where you are," she said, urgently, the fear in her heart magnifying.

"I just want you to know how much…how much… I love you." He swallowed hard trying to get command of a voice that wasn't cooperating. "I wouldn't leave you like that, but there's a reason. I just need you to be understanding…and I want you to forgive me. Will you do that?" He was almost sobbing into the phone, the images in the dream playing before his eyes, the man in the mask hurting her. He had to protect the woman he loved from this monster.

"Fritz, please come home to me. I need you with me. Whatever you're doing put it off until later," she pleaded, and the bit of toughness she'd mustered up seemed to be fading fast as tears returned to her eyes, again. She was so afraid for him.

"Brenda, I'm sorry this is something I have to do. I can't stop it. I want you to know how much I loved you… will always love you," he choked,

"Fritz, tell me what's going on. I'm begging you to come home…I'm hurt, and you need to take care of me. Please." She was frantic, and his words sounded as if they were the last ones to her. She needed to reach him and brought out her arsenal, "you made me a promise that you wouldn't get hurt. Our child needs a father and I need a husband, please come home to me." She was crying into the phone.

"Bren, please understand, forgive me. I love you sweetheart. I gotta go." He closed his phone before she could respond. He tried to calm his nerves, but the dream wouldn't go away. The shake in his hand seemed to penetrate his entire body and he struggled for control. He knew what he needed and despairingly he flagged the stewardess for two Jack Daniel minis.

She tried calling him back, but he wouldn't pick up. Brenda slapped her phone closed in disgust. She was upset, and her panic and tears quickly turned to a heated form of anger. She couldn't believe Fritz was doing this. She scoured the contact list in her cell phone directory and found Jerry's number and hit the speed dial. She was going to get to the bottom of it. Too bad Jerry would receive the brunt of her wrath.

"Jerry, its Brenda Leigh Johnson," she said, tersely, "I have a few questions so don't give me any bullshit. I want to know what the hell you and my husband are working on, and where the hell is he?"

"Brenda…hi…how ya doin," Jerry said trying to stall. Her call was unexpected and he was trying to get his thoughts or maybe his lies in order, and she sounded like a damn pit bull ready to go for his throat.

"Jerry, I'm only going to say this once, I mean business so cut the shit and answer the damn questions because I know you and Fritz are working on something so don't deny it. And I want the truth or so help me I'll march over there and cut your nuts off. Understand?!" she was angry and didn't care what she said to Jerry, Fritz' partner or not, she didn't have time to play games.

"Brenda, I really don't want to get in between you and Fritz, alright. It makes me uncomfortable," he said, matter of fact.

"Well, then you just decide how uncomfortable you want to be, telling me what I need to know, or going without your balls. I want answers and I'll call in the big dogs to take a big bite out of your ass. I'm not stupid Jerry, and if it's what I'm thinking I'll bring down the hammer, so you best give me what I want."

Jerry sighed into the phone, "Alright, he's investigating your case. We got a lead and he's headed to Las Vegas now."

"What kind of lead," she asked. Her radar peaked honing in on what the FBI knew, and damnit how the hell did the FBI unearth information she was unaware of? She answered her own question, Fritz Howard and his cohorts working undercover. Shit! The only connection to Vegas was Russ Masterson the owner of the van.

"Brenda, I'm not sure," he lied, "He's been working with Agent O'Connor on this."

"Jerry, I can spot a lie a million miles away. So just be truthful with me. You know damn well what it's about. Tell me so we can be done with this conversation," she said, her voice edgy wanting the information.

Jerry sighed loudly into the phone, Brenda Leigh Johnson was getting the better of him and he didn't like it at all. Revealing what he knew seemed like a traitorous act, and he didn't want to be disloyal to his partner and friend, but then she did have him by the balls threatening him with an investigation and he surely didn't want to lose his SID connections, they were too valuable. He quickly weighed his options and spilled his guts. "Agent O'Connor dug into Russ Masterson's financial background. She thinks he's dirty, wrapped up in some vehicle insurance fraud scam. Fritz went to Vegas to check him out, see if Masterson set up the theft maybe he knew the guy, and this guy, ya know, hurt you. That's all I know Brenda, and I haven't heard from Fritz since he got on the plane. Alright." He sighed heavily into the phone feeling like Benedict Arnold.

"Well, thanks Jerry for the information, it's good to see you came to your senses," she said with a bit of spite, "and one other thing, my husband calls you, you tell him I need to speak with him," she wanted assurance that Fritz would call, "it concerns our child, and it's important!"

Pope walked into her office, "Brenda, you about ready." He noticed the flushness in her face and was quickly alarmed, "are you alright?"

She was standing at her desk searching her black bag for her glasses, "yeah, I'm just angry. We have a mole in the department that's sending the FBI information, and it needs to be taken care of Will. They have a lead in the case. Russ Masterson is dirty. We need to call Detective Roarke and put her on Masterson's financial history. The FBI thinks its vehicle insurance fraud, could tie us to our perp."

"How the hell is the FBI involved in this Brenda? We haven't called them in!"

Brenda gave him a look suggesting he rethink his stupid question, "Do I even have to say it Will. This is Fritz' doing, he's been investigating the case on the sly. He's not right. He's not himself…he's going to go off like a loose cannon and I'm afraid he'll be hurt or killed," she could hear the pitiful sound of her voice and tears welled in her eyes, "I don't know how to help him. He won't listen to me."

Will came to her and took her in his arms hugging her tight, "Brenda, Fritz is a smart man. He can take care of himself. Don't worry so much." Being bold, he kissed the top of her head.

"He's different though Will. I can see it in his eyes. I can feel it; something bad is going to happen." She muffled a sob into Pope's chest glad for the intimate contact, yet not liking it either. She pulled away getting a grip on herself, "We have work to do."

The cabbie dropped Fritz off at Mel's Rental Cars a fly-by-night hole in the wall, the girl at Avis had been right. With five conventions in town for the weekend he should have called ahead for a rental, which he failed to do and this was the last place that might have a car. Taking cabs all over town was out of the question, he needed his own set of wheels.

The heat was stifling as the temperature was already approaching a hundred and seventeen degrees with every intention of making it into the record books for the hottest day of the year. Fritz was sweated through even in the air conditioned cab, and felt the trickle down the small of his back. His bad mood became progressively worse in the town he absolutely despised. It was like entering hell itself, and the heat of it was already burning him up.

He walked through the door and a bleached blond stood behind the counter, a swirl of smoke rising from the ash tray in front of her. She smiled at him showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. Uncomely with five layers of pan caked makeup, he sized her up quickly as thirty five going on seventy. That's what this town did to you, made you old before your time, and this woman certainly looked as if she led a hard Vegas life. She spoke "Rent-A-Car" by day and "Rent- A- Tramp" by night, no telling how many times she'd been driven around the block. Fritz shuddered at the thought.

"What can I do for you," she batted her fake massacred eyelashes suggestively. Her voice sounded like Carol Channing from her four pack a day habit, and moreover she had the Carol Channing mouth to go with it coated in a slick red and as she wrapped her lips around her cigarette a grotesque thought came to Fritz' mind, of where that mouth had been and what that mouth might have done. Bile rose to his throat.

"I'd like to rent a car," he said quickly, hoping they had one available. The door behind the counter was half open and Fritz could see the Danny Devito look alike pacing the length of the small office. For what he lacked in height he made up with his booming voice that undoubtedly cracked the plaster walls, "Teddy, you need to get your goddamned ass in here. I'm trying to run a business and I have three fucking cars sitting waiting for work," "Danny Devito," of which he presumed Mel, bellowed.

The bleached blond smiled sheepishly and walked over to close the door. Fritz noticed the intentional sway to her hips. She was on the thin scrawny side really, not much hip in the sway. She was dressed in a tight fitting leopard print shirt with painted on black spandex capris. She looked like a stick figure drawing except for the twin peaks protruding from her chest, so mountainous they begged to be conquered. Perhaps a cosmetic surgery gift from one of her special friends, an aberration so preposterous she could gain employment at Circus Circus for the freak show.

She smiled broadly at Fritz and he was drawn to her mouth strangely enough, his eye roamed to the crooked front tooth overlapping the other marked with a smear of red lipstick. "Mel's upset that Teddy isn't coming in today. She won big on the slots, been playing the same one for seven nights straight, just knew it would pay off soon enough," she giggled.

"So Teddy's a girl," Fritz asked raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah, the best mechanic in Vegas. She called this mornin' telling me she hit it big, told me to tell Mel to shove his job up his…well…you know... where the sun doesn't shine."

"His ass…" Fritz chuckled as he leaned over the counter dividing the space between them. She reeked of cheap perfume, a nauseating mixture of lilac and cigarette smoke. Getting a rental car wasn't looking so good, and he was desperate. He'd do what he'd have to do, including going into the gutter. This was Vegas after all, it was use or be used and in his present pessimistic state of mind he wouldn't have a problem playing the game. It was a town of gluttonous self promoting people lacking moral values, and integrity. Everyone had there own agenda revolving around gambling, sex and drugs, the glamour and glitter was just window dressing disguising what was really underneath. There was a reason it was called Sin City, and he hated the place. "Rita," he gazed down at her name tag, his eyes purposely lingering over her chest in mock admiration looking up he smiled seductively, "please tell me you have a car for me. I would be most appreciative," he said, with an obscene lick to his lips.

Her eyes shimmered back, "Well," she said in her gravelly voice, "if Teddy had been in I'd have one to give you, but the airs out. Mel told me not to rent it to anyone. He doesn't want to be responsible if someone dies of heat stroke. It gets really hot in Vegas ya know."

If Fritz couldn't get this car then he'd talk Rita out of her own, "What if I asked you if I could rent yours, just for a little while, if you know what I mean." He gave her a wink. In another venue he might have felt sorry for this woman, but this was Vegas and the end justified the means…use or be used. She seemed pleased with his proposal, no stranger to a come on, and Fritz again took note of the crooked tooth as she smiled.

"I would consider it, but I don't have a car. I take the bus to work. If you don't mind being without the air conditioning…," she said, batting her lashes. "I'd be going against what my boss told me to do though. I could lose my job and everything." She tapped the long talon of her fake red fingernail across Fritz's wedding band, and then licked her red lacquered Carol Channing lips, "You know what they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

Fritz fought the urge to vomit all over the countertop, but put on his best seductive and interested expression. "Rita, I'd do anything for that car."

It was a good thing the windows had been rolled down the interior of the Honda Accord was only a hundred and thirty degrees instead of two hundred and twelve. Fritz turned over the engine his first destination was Russ Masterson's house. He hurriedly took out his handy dandy computerized phone, the latest device in the myriad of technological advances, and loaded up the Map Quest directions for the Masterson residence. Sweat was pouring from his body the heat was so oppressive he felt like he was in an oven. He floored the gas trying to get air movement in the car before he cooked like a fried egg. As he left the lot he saw Mel running out the door yelling for him to come back, evidently Rita had her ass in the wringer, and Fritz chuckled.

Fritz rang the door bell of the large, manicured ranch home. He held his FBI badge up to the peephole. He looked like hell, not the well groomed G-man that should've come knocking. His clothes were wet from perspiration his face had taken on a ruddy appearance from the heat, and his deodorant had long ago lost its effectiveness. He was a sweaty, stinky, mess, but this was Vegas. The door opened and he felt the brisk coolness of cold air hit him and he longed to be inside instead of melting on the front stoop.

A woman answered, "Can I help you," she said, narrowing her eyes distrustfully.

"Agent Fritz Howard, FBI ma'am. I need to speak with Mr. Masterson please," he said holding out his credentials.

The woman inspected his badge closely and then invited him in, "You look like you could use ice water, would you like some?"

The air conditioned home was a relief and Fritz wanted to take off his suit coat, but was to afraid of his reeking body odor, "Thank you ma'am. I would appreciate it. My rental car has no air conditioning," he offered, thinking she'd understand his haggard appearance.

"I'm surprised they'd rent it. Today could be the hottest day of the year. A lot of people die of heat stroke if they don't properly take care of themselves. Make sure you have plenty of water if you'll be in that hot box for long. I'll call my husband for you," she said walking away.

She seemed like a nice woman, and Fritz didn't want to get ugly with the husband. However, he was there for information and refused to leave without it.

Russ Masterson and his wife appeared at the same time and Fritz took the water from her and eagerly drank. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed back the glass with thanks.

"Agent Howard, we can talk in my office," Masterson turned on his heels and Fritz followed him down the hallway.

He closed the door, "Listen, if this is about the theft of my van I already gave my statement to the Las Vegas police. You can get a copy of it from them," he said, with an impatient tone.

"I've already read your statement," Fritz said. He decided to hit him with the information Agent O'Connor dug up, just to see how he reacted.

"I'm here to talk about the scam your runnin' with your brother-in-law. Maybe your wife doesn't know about the vehicle fraud going on with Sam, does she? That extra money you've been using for the slots." He noticed the alarm in Masterson's eyes, as if the gig was up. He was so easy to read.

"I…I don't know what your talking about," he stuttered, looking away from Fritz.

"I'll come clean with you…Russ…Right now, I don't give a rat's ass about the scam you got goin'. I'm here to find out about your van found in long term parking at LAX. How'd it get there?"

Masterson sat in his chair defeated. He looked up at Fritz and hesitated deciding whether to come clean with the FBI man…"Shit," he said with a sigh, "it got fucked up with the little bastard Sam hired. He was supposed to take the van to the desert and torch it, but it ends up in LA involved in some crime. I got on the phone to Sam and asked him what the fuck was going on and he didn't know."

"Who's the little bastard?" Fritz could feel his heart rate quicken he was on to something.

"Sam hired the kid. His mom's a cocktail waitress at the Flamingo, names Leslie I think. Sam's been screwin' her on the side, said she needed work for her kid. Sam felt sorry for her. She was down and out scraping the bottom of the barrel and he was trying to help her out giving her cash here and there…must be a good lay. I told Sam to cut her off. She's bad news, a big time alcoholic, too needy if you ask me. Leslie's husband lost his big dot com business and then ate his gun a couple years back, all over the little bastard of a son that got himself into a heap of trouble, did time in Mexico, and Sam the stupid ass puts this kid to work, can you believe it." Masterson huffed, then took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up. "Anyway, this little family they had a big mansion in LA with a lot of dough to throw around, but not enough to get the kid out of trouble. Leslie told Sam things would've been different if it wasn't for the bitch of a woman detective from LA that set her kid up for jail in Mexico."

Fritz remembered the case. He went with Brenda to Encenado, and they set up the little bastard, as she called him, with the Mexican authorities since she couldn't get him back to the states to be charged and tried. Brenda had been swindled by the kid's father and mother who'd do anything to protect their murderous son, helping him flee to Mexico. The son raped and killed the little Hispanic girl, Marta Alvarez, dumped her body like garbage in the LA River, and then fingered a known sex offender and pedophile Wayne Mathers who ended his own life with a bullet to the brain. Brenda was torn up over the case from the very beginning, and it steadily progressed down hill, and for a while it looked as though Austin Phillips would get away with it. It may have happened if not for Brenda's tenacity in her pursuit of justice for poor Marta Alvarez. It was another example why Fritz loved the woman so much, everyone counted or no one did.

Fritz was happy to accompany Brenda to Mexico, and as mutual partners they worked like a well oiled machine setting up Phillips into a confession within earshot of the Mexican authorities. The case didn't come without cost. There were some cases that just seemed to stick to you like glue, hard to get over and this one was one of them. He could see how upset she was grabbing the bottle of tequila in an effort to bathe her aching heart into numbness. He knew it wasn't the way to take care of heartache because he'd been down that road too many times before and it only led to further destruction.

In her Crown Vic on the way to the hotel he was able to seize the half empty bottle and place it under the seat. Tears were glistening over her face and he wanted to take it away from her, the pain and disgust. He extended his hand across the bench seat and took hers and kissed it tenderly. Seconds later she was out of her belt and pressed tightly against him. She was kissing his face and he hooked his arm around her waist trying to drive with one hand and half a mind. "Sweetie," he whispered, "it's gonna be alright. Don't cry." He could taste the alcohol on her tongue as she probed his mouth fervently. She seemed desperate and he didn't know if they'd make it to the hotel in one piece, hoping he didn't hit someone or drive off the side of the road. He needed to hold her, needed to take away the misery. He felt her hand in his lap feeling his hardness bulging in his pants. She mumbled something of his comfort then unzipped him taking him into her hand. He knew she shouldn't be doing this in broad daylight in the car while he was driving, but he found himself shifting in his seat to give her better access. She was soaking his neck with her tongue and her tears. He pulled into the parking lot of the Hotel Corona shutting the engine down. He hurriedly took her into his lap, kissing her deeply and passionately. "We're here," he said breaking the kiss and looking into her wet eyes, "let's get our room okay, and I'll take care of you." He gingerly kissed her and with the slightest touch he traced his tongue over her top lip, and was pleased by the slight gasp she made.

She was already pulling his clothes off before he had the hotel door closed and locked. He put her on the bed, beautifully naked. "Fritz," she said, with glistening eyes, "make me forget all this. I want to forget." He was only happy to oblige, and began kissing her body, but she was urgent, not wanting to wait.

"You ready," he asked, making sure. She gave him a knowing look. "Let me get my wallet," he whispered between kisses to her mouth.

"No," she said, "I want to feel all of you this time. I need all of you in me."

There were consequences, but he didn't mind. If she became pregnant he'd marry her, and he always wanted her this way and she was offering. It was a fleeting thought that quickly entered and exited his mind that maybe he was taking advantage of her drunkenness, but he wanted to turn ugliness into beauty. "You sure," he said, but he had already immersed himself inside her feeling the exquisite heat and wetness of her center humming tightly around him, and there was no turning back.

She was inebriated, uninhibited, and hot, and it was the greatest sex he'd ever had, when Brenda Leigh Johnson forgets it's not done halfheartedly. After several hours and rounds later, he held her tenderly in his arms stroking her head. The sheets were piled beside them and the remnants of their lovemaking clung to them like the scent in the air.

The case and that night were permanently etched into his mind, "What's the kid's name and where does he live," Fritz asked, already knowing the answer to the first question.

"It's Austin Phillips and he lives with his mom in some run down trailer five miles north of town. I'd have to call Sam to get the exact address," Masterson said, picking up his phone.


	8. Chapter 8

Revenge Part 8

Revenge Part 8

Provenza knocked on Brenda's office door and then stuck his head in, "Chief, we just got the DNA results back and you're not going to like it."

She sighed wearily, "No match," she asked, not at all surprised.

"No match," he said affirmatively.

It was a disappointment. If only the perpetrator had been in the database they'd have a name. Time was of the essence in these cases, as the minutes ticked away so did the chance of acquiring justice for the victim, in this instance Chief Johnson, which never left the minds of those who were working the case. It meant they would have to be more bulldoggish in their crime solving abilities, and hopefully they would catch a break soon.

With her team surrounding her Brenda sat in a chair in the electronics room and perched her black glasses on her nose. She looked over at Buzz and smiled, "Well Buzz, I guess it's time we got started." She saw the compassion and worry in Buzz's blue eyes and she patted his hand. She used make-up on her face before she came in, but it didn't come close to covering the purple and green bruises, that of which would require an Este Lauder buy out.

There were a number of pictures to view, and Brenda studied each carefully before moving to the next, and then she came to the image that made her suck in breath. A man with long hair and a mustache, perhaps in a disguise, but she knew his eyes. "Buzz, I need a close up of his face, please," she said swiftly. Buzz enlarged the man's face on the screen.

Brenda felt the slight tremble in her hands. It was him, the man who hurt her, and in seeing his face it all came back in a nightmarish flood and she grimaced in pain. She put her shaking hands to her face trying to control the overwhelming emotion that seemed to pool out of her, and she told her mind to get a grip over her body, but her body wasn't listening. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and a slick sheen of sweat formed over her brow, and she thought she was going to be sick. She swallowed hard suppressing the vomit rising in her throat, and she heard Buzz ask for water through the roaring in her ears. For a split second she thought she would lose consciousness, but through great effort she fought it off. She felt Pope's hand on her back, and then around her. She leaned into him. "I don't know what's wrong," she managed to say. The knowledge had hit her so suddenly, and in viewing the face on the screen the case and the killer came to her as she knew it would. It was a case that haunted her from the start, and now it appeared to haunt her again, profoundly.

"It's alright," Pope said into her ear, "this is the man isn't it?" He held her tightly against him.

She breathed deep trying to get her composure, "Yes," she said closing her eyes tight. She was trying to focus on the case, "Sgt. Gabriel, pull the Marta Alvarez file, and Lt. Provenza, run that DNA through the international database. It's him, Austin Phillips."

Fritz stopped at a convenient store for water, a hand towel and deodorant, and at the check out he purchased a bottle of Tylenol for the whopper of a headache that came on suddenly and painfully. He guzzled the water and threw back the Tylenol. The heat was oppressive and he knew it was affecting him. He took off his dress shirt and tie leaving him in his white wife beater t-shirt and slacks. He thought about stripping to his boxers since anything goes in Vegas he mused, but decided against it. He drank two more bottles of water. The sweat was rolling off him, and as he towel dried his body he put in a call to Jerry.

"Jerry, its Fritz, I need you to do something for me," he said, urgently.

"Fritz, whatever you need. I'm on it, man."

"The son of a bitch that hurt Brenda, his name is Austin Phillips. Can you put the DNA through the international database? I'm sure we'll get a hit. I know it's the guy, but I want confirmation."

"No problem. It shouldn't take long. And Fritz, I'm really sorry man, but your pit bull of a wife got to me, made me spill my guts." Jerry sighed into the phone, clearly agitated. "She had me by the balls, knows you're working her case in Vegas…Sorry."

Fritz laughed into the phone, "It's what she's good at, getting men by their balls."

Jerry scoffed, "Well hell, I'd rather it be your balls than mine. Damn, it didn't even feel good either."

Fritz laughed again thinking of his beautiful pit bull of a wife, "Well, sometimes she can be gentle."

"Yeah, she's good at caressing yours and squeezing mine! By the way she wanted me to tell you to call her immediately, something important about the baby, and wouldn't give me any details," Jerry said, unsure if he was playing into a ruse so Fritz would call her.

"What about the baby?" He was alarmed, was she bleeding again? Not thinking he asked Jerry the question, "Is she bleeding again?"

"Fritz… we didn't go into that and I'd doubt if she'd tell me something so personal. You need to call her man, find out what the hell's going on. Are you doin' alright?" Jerry couldn't help but feel concerned for Fritz since it was a funny kind of question.

"Yeah, Yeah, I'm sorry. I know that was stupid to ask, I'm just tired. I gotta go buddy and thanks for putting that through, get back to me as soon as you find something out, will ya?"

Fritz ended the conversation with Jerry. He reached into his pants pocket and took out the damp cigarette pack and lit up. He blew out smoke as he pressed the speed dial for Brenda's cell, and was glad she picked up on the second ring, "Brenda, Jerry told me to call you, what's going on."

"Fritz, I think you need to tell_ me_ what's going on," Brenda said pointedly. She was in mid flight to Vegas on the way to apprehend Austin Phillips with her team. With some quick investigation they had traced Phillips to his mother's residence.

Fritz ignored her, "What's going on with our baby Brenda, are you bleeding again?"

"I'm on my way to Vegas now. Tell me what you're up to Fritz. I talked to Jerry so I know you're working the case," she demanded, intentionally leaving out the information he asked for. She hoped they would get to Austin Phillips and arrest him before Fritz put the pieces together. She had that pestilent fear growing inside threatening to blossom into panic.

"Then our baby is alright if you're on your way to Vegas. What's this about Brenda," he demanded sharply, wondering about her motivations, and a little perturbed she'd use the welfare of their child as means to render information. He took another hard drag on his cigarette.

She could hear him smoke, and he wasn't trying to hide it from her either. "You're smoking aren't you," she asked, accusingly.

He was disgusted with her line of questioning and acted out hatefully, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about Brenda. I'm not smoking, where the hell would you get that from anyway," he asked testily, flipping his ashes onto the ground.

"You want to know where I got it from...I got it from you… I can fucking hear you, Fritz," she said, raising her voice several octaves. She was angry and exasperated, and didn't want to go down this road with him. Dread was filling her heart, "You just back off this case Fritz. I'll be at the airport in thirty minutes, wait for me there. You can come with us when we pick him up." Fritz was a tenacious investigator and she went with the assumption he knew what she knew, and more importantly she wanted him by her side so she could keep an eye on him.

The inferno of rage Fritz held in check came bursting through the surface, "What did you not get Brenda?" His voice was a low growl. "Things need to be taken care of. So don't tell me to back off. This little bastard is going pay. I'm not going to sit around so he gets another chance to hurt you like he said he would. He's not going to get the chance to _**rape**_ and _**sodomize**_ you again", he said with emphasis, "I'll be the one who brings the fucker in." The deep hatred Fritz held for the man was boiling over. He was hot inside and out, already in Vegas hell he'd face Satan head on. "Remember what I said to you in the shower Brenda, it hasn't changed and will never change. He murdered a little girl, he hurt you, and it'll never happen again."

Brenda was astounded by his words, to go in with no authority or backup, but mostly for putting his life in danger needlessly. "Then you leave me no choice Fritz," she said heatedly, "when we end this conversation I'm putting a call into the Vegas police and I'm going to have you picked up for interfering in a police investigation. And when you flash that FBI badge of yours it won't mean jack shit because I'm telling them you're no more than a rogue agent acting on your own behalf and not the Bureau. You go anywhere near that trailer you'll have cuffs slapped around your wrists so fast and it'll be for your own damn good. Do we understand each other?"

"Fuck," he hissed into the phone, he was exploding, "You'd do that? You'd have me picked up when I'm trying to protect you from a fucking monster?" He was pacing furiously next to the Honda and then kicked the rear panel in with the bottom of his foot in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

Several patrons to the convenient store looked at him concernedly, and he knew he needed to collect himself before the police came and hauled his ass away for disorderly. He took the time to settle down and think things through, and his only option was to lie and he needed to do it convincingly.

Several unspoken minutes and puffs on his cigarette passed as he tried to calm himself, and then he sighed heavily into the phone. His voice had a broken edge with all traces of anger removed, "You've left me with no other alternative then, to wait for you I guess. You promise I'll be in, Pope won't have a problem with the FBI will he?" He sounded like his normal self, "Where should I meet you, what terminal," he asked, stomping out his cigarette.

Brenda closed her phone. She wanted to feel better and he sounded normal with the end to their conversation. He said he would meet her and she had to trust that, she had to trust him, but deep down the dagger of discontent was poking at her again. But could she trust him not to lie? He wasn't himself and she was met with paralyzing indecision. The shakes took hold of her again and Pope, sitting close to her hearing the entire conversation on both ends, reached for her hand and kissed it in an attempt to comfort her.

"What is it," he said, meeting her eye.

"I'm afraid for him. I don't know what to do. I think I should call the Vegas police and have him picked up, but he said he'd meet us at the airport," she said rapidly, the nervous speed of her voice giving away her anxiety. "There's something wrong I can feel it; he lied before he could be lying again." She wanted to go with what her gut was telling her.

Pope spoke up, "I've never known Fritz to not keep his word, Brenda. He's a man of integrity. He'll be waiting for you. Don't worry," he said, with a self-serving glint in his stark blue eyes.

Fritz pealed another water bottle from the plastic band. He drank eight of the twelve and was sweating it out as fast as he was pouring it in. He couldn't get enough. He threw the empty in the seat next to him and checked the directions on his phone, and then lit up a Marlboro inhaling the smoke deeply. He was stirred up like a hornets nest after the conversation with Brenda. He was so filled with hate and anger for the man who hurt her there was no question what he was going to do. He wanted to beat the shit out of him first, and that's what he thought of mostly, pummeling him into the ground. Lost in his revengeful thoughts he was startled to feel the shake and shimmy in the rear of the car. "Son of a bitch," he shrieked to desert cactus and brush as he got out. The rear driver's side tire was flat as a pancake, "Fuck," he moaned, talking to himself. "Fucking, Mel,…fucking piece of shit car with no fucking air, and fucking bald tires," the f-word rolled effortlessly across his tongue, but moreover, he couldn't believe his fucking luck. He wanted to get to Austin Phillips before Brenda did, and now it wasn't looking so good.

He jerked up the trunk lid and tore out the spare tire and jack. The sweat was dripping down his arms making his hands wet and slippery. The sun pounded him from above and the asphalt was so hot the soles of his feet were burning inside his shoes. Changing the flat tire in a hundred and seventeen degree temperature was exhausting. He had to take several breaks in the process which left his water supply drained. He lost forty minutes and his headache was back, and so painful he spewed the contents of his stomach near the side of the road. He leaned against the car feeling dizzy and weak, and oddly enough he kept seeing flashes of movement in his peripheral vision, which was driving him crazy. The heat and lack of sleep were playing funny tricks on him.

Back in the car his cell phone rang and he answered Jerry's call.

"Fritz, the DNA came back, it's a definite match to the Phillips kid," Jerry said with certainty.

"I knew it would be Jer, thanks for checking it for me. I just needed the confirmation."

"Fritz, you're not going to pick this guy up without backup are you? Because we both know how incredibly stupid that would be. Man, you have to remember you're on leave bud, and I'm not sure if the Bureau would give a blessing to your lone wolf operation."

"Jer, don't worry. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm waiting for Brenda and her team. I'm going in with them," he lied. It was so easy to lie, the slick words moved so meaningfully from his lips and they believed him because they had no reason not to. He was weaving a terrible web of deceit, but would only allow himself to feel like the dirty dog he was for just a moment because he had bigger fish to fry than himself, and confronting Austin Phillips was next on his agenda. Sweet revenge he thought, Austin Phillips would get what he deserved.

Brenda tried to move quickly from the plane, but she wasn't feeling well. She was agitated and nervous about Fritz wondering if he would be waiting for her. Her body was aching from the beating, and what worried her more than anything was the pain she was feeling in her lower abdomen, pain like menstrual cramps, which seemed to come on suddenly. She needed to be home resting, all the stress was too much for her, but thoughts of Fritz propelled her forward his well being was more important at the moment.

She scanned the US Air waiting area for him, and she knew he had lied right out of his mouth, and a sinking feeling came over her. "Will, we need to get to the Phillips place now. Fritz lied and I'm sure he's there now."

Will took her arm to hurry her along. "LVPD is waiting outside Brenda. We'll put on lights and sirens. We'll get there in time, don't worry."

Brenda scoffed to herself, that's what he said the last time, and she worried all the more.

The Phillips residence was a run down trailer off a dusty dirt road. It was a rusted tin box sitting in squalor with a small portable air conditioning unit humming in the front window. There were no cars in the driveway, the place seemed desolate. Fritz took the towel from the seat and wiped his face and arms wishing he had water to wash back more Tylenol for his pounding head. The pain was so intense he could barely think. He checked his pistol ten rounds in the magazine with one extra mag fully loaded on his belt. He pushed the safety off and holstered his gun.

He knocked lightly calling out for Phillips when a flicker of motion came to his right causing him to draw his weapon in that direction only to realize he was seeing things in his peripheral vision again. "Shit" he mumbled. His heart was beating quickly with adrenaline coursing through his body, and he reminded himself to take extra care in dealing with this asshole since he was by himself. With his left hand he wiped the sweat running down his face, and then knocked hard on the door only to find it slightly agar. He pushed it open calling for Phillips. The trailer was completely dark inside except for the light coming in from the doorway. Fritz tore off his sunglasses and put them in his pants pocket noting the pungent odor of cat urine hitting him in the face. Nauseated, he cussed under his breath.

He stepped inside cautiously with his weapon drawn calling Phillips name again as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the living area. The windows were completely covered with blankets taped up inhibiting the entrance of a single ray of light giving the place a dungeon-like ambience. Garbage and trash overlaid every surface and he wondered how anyone could live in such filth, especially with the temperature inside only marginally cooler than the furnace outside. He wiped the sweat running into his eyes with the back of his hand, the moisture copiously pouring from his skin from the warmth and his heightened alert. His heart was beating hard inside his chest, the blood coursing fast through his veins which only aggravated the intense throb of his head. He licked his dry lips moving to the left to check behind the door. It happened so quickly, a swift kick coming out of nowhere, his gun leaping out of his slick hand sliding across the vinyl flooring to its resting place near the edge of the sofa, and a knife plunged into his left arm. The fire inside Fritz ignited like dry brush in a drought, instantaneous and consuming. He attacked Phillips struggling with the knife, which fell to the floor. Fritz pummeled him with all the strength he had, the punches landing on his face and torso. Phillips quick and high on some drug managed to get free of Fritz, and with some martial arts training gave Fritz a swift kick to his face breaking his nose, bringing him to his knees near the sofa, dazed. Phillips picked up the knife, and steadily made his way to Fritz.

"I thought it would be the bitch who'd come, not you," Phillips said in a low growl.

Fritz getting his bearings saw his gun just a few feet away, but Phillips was too close with the knife for him to make a move. He'd wait for the opportunity.

"You'll have to deal with me, you little fuck," Fritz spat.

"The loyal husband seeks revenge for his damsel in distress! Oh my, I'm so afraid," Phillips chuckled evilly. "I remember you, coming with the bitch, putting me away in Mexico. Well, she got what was coming to her. She got fucked! Now she knows what it feels like!" His eyes were fiery, the look of pure evil.

"You know what I'm going to do, I'm going to break your fucking neck, and enjoy every minute of it." Fritz was seething and wanted to act rashly, but knew he had to be patient. He eyed his gun.

"Oh, let me tell you how much I enjoyed your wife. She's good, especially when she's all tied up. Do you fuck her like that? Huh? Do a little bondage? Because now when you fuck her you'll always be thinking of me! I'm your worst nightmare. I'll be with you forever," he taunted, "but you know, I don't think you'll get the chance because I'm going to kill you."

Phillips stepped toward Fritz with the eight inch blade of the hunter's knife, the same one he used against Brenda. Fritz acted immediately diving for his gun and with an expedient turn onto his back with gun in hand he fired four rapid shots from his H&K 45 loaded with his man stopper bullets. The first three hit Phillips center mass, and the fourth entered his forehead blowing out the back of his head. Phillips had been lunging with the knife and the momentum carried him forward and he fell on top of Fritz who couldn't move out of the way quickly enough.

Phillips dead weight rested over Fritz. Breathing heavily, Fritz tried to push Phillips to the side, but for some reason he was completely drained of energy and had to take a few moments to catch his breath. It was finally over. The man would never hurt Brenda again and he was glad. He finally pushed the body aside and noticed the blood covering his hand, which was leaking from the stab wound in his arm. He was so tired and thirsty and he licked his dry lips. He thought about revenge being sweet, but it really wasn't. It hurt. His arm hurt, and he had a terrible pain in his side. With his head leaning against the sofa he looked down and saw the knife sticking in the right side of his abdomen. He was shocked, this couldn't be happening. He covered his hand over the wound wondering if he should pull it out. Blood was gushing from the site, and he came to the realization that he was going to die in this rat hole. Oh my God! He thought of his beautiful girl, and the baby he would never hold and began to weep.

Brenda and her team jumped from their cars. The trailer's front door was standing wide open. They approached cautiously and peering into the living area they saw Fritz in a pool of blood, and Austin Phillips beside him with his head nearly blown off.

Fritz was in agony, of the spiritual kind. He promised her he wouldn't get hurt and now he was dying. He was so sorry. Sorry for all his lies and broken promises. It was too late to change things. He needed to tell her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her, that he was glad to pay with his own life to know she would be safe. She could live her life in freedom from this monster, and he'd do it all again for her. He would leave her with a child; at least she would have a small part of him. The pain of it all was a tremendous burden to bear, but if only he could see her one more time he thought. He closed his eyes tight and the tears leaked over the side of his face, and he hoped she'd come to him.

Hysterical shrieks came from Brenda as she hurried to Fritz' side. He was breathing shallow, but he was alive. His face was pale and she could see tears in his eyes. He was trying to say something to her, but she couldn't make it out. She held his face in her hands, "Please, you promised me you wouldn't leave me. Stay with me." Deep sobs came from her throat. The man she loved was dying before her eyes, "Fritz, fight for us. Hang on. We need you," she pleaded.

When he opened his eyes she was standing there like a miracle, the face of a beautiful angel. Her golden hair dazzled as if she were in the sun, and her gleaming smile was a splendid sight. He would leave nothing unsaid, and everything in his heart poured out at that moment, passionate and eloquent words of love covering her like a warm blanket. They were caressing and caring, prayerful words that enfolded her unto him bringing her into his soul. He smiled when he saw the love in her eyes and the tears of happiness fall gently to her cheeks. She loved him and he would be forgiven. She picked up their child in proud display, a beautiful boy of two, and he noted the resemblance in his dark hair and eyes. She called him Little Fritzy and planted a kiss on his cheek. He wept at the beauty of it all, and there was only one thing left for him to say.

Brenda noticed his mouth moving, his bloody hand reached for her and she put her ear closer to him, "Fritz, what is it honey," she sobbed.

Barely audible he whispered, "I love you, Brenda Leigh."

Epilogue

She heard him crying and went to his crib and picked him up kissing him sweetly on the cheek. Just a few days old and wrapped tightly in a receiving blanket she carried him to the living room with a warm bottle of breast milk. She handed him to Fritz who was sitting in the chair watching the LA Dodgers play the Chicago Cubs. Fritz smiled at her and then took her hand bringing her into a kiss. "I love you," he said with tenderness, then pulled her into the chair with him closing his arm around her. She leaned her head against his chest, and put the bottle to her son's mouth watching him suck eagerly, "He's a good eater," she commented.

They were going to be alright she thought, contented to be in the warmth and safety of Fritz' arms, and to think she almost lost both of them. Fritz made it through surgery, and two harrowing days in a coma from blood loss. The only physical affect from his ordeal besides the scars was the loss of memory of those three days, and maybe that was a good thing.

"When do you think I can take him to a Dodger game," he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled, "You're going to make a ball player out of him, aren't you?"

"Brenda Leigh, was there ever a doubt," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.


End file.
